Redemption
by Tex-chan
Summary: On the run from Kritiker, Aya & Yohji must retrieve something very precious to their betrayer. They undertake a foolish plan that puts Aya at Schuldich's mercy. Will they survive? Part 3 of a Trilogy. Part 1: Nowhere Man ... Part 2: Betrayal
1. Default Chapter

**CHAPTER 1**

**Note & a bit of a warning:** This is the third and final story in my "Nowhere Man" trilogy. The others: (1) **_Nowhere Man_**, and (2) **_Betrayal_** are posted here on ff.net. You can also read them on my website, if you prefer. Just e-mail me, and I'd be happy to send you the link.

There is a very ... **very** ... off-center and crazy Schuldich ahead. OK, so more off-center and "crazy" than usual. I wrote him that way on purpose ... so, please bear with it. There was a good reason for it, honest! At least, I felt like it was a good reason ..._ ~Tex-chan_.

Floating, drifting aimlessly through an endless sea of darkness. Darkness above, darkness below, darkness all around. Everywhere he looked, each direction he turned there was only black --- cold, hard, merciless blackness grabbing at him with icy talons. It was him his body, and, yet, it wasn't. He felt detached, as if he was just an uninvolved, impartial observer, even though he could feel himself sinking lower and lower into the creeping, all-consuming dark. It was heavy, and pushed against his body like a living beast, wrapping him in its arms and crushing life and breath right out of him. Breathing was hard --- a painful torture that hardly seemed worth the effort --- and, the deeper he sank, the more the black drank him in, the harder it became. He thought he could see a surface to the darkness, and he struggled to reach it. But, it was too hard, almost impossible, when the beast refused to release him from its icy grip. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn't get free; it wouldn't let him go, and he couldn't reach the surface. Finally, he cried out, begging for help, for someone to save him. But, there was no answer. He was alone. No one was coming for him; no one was going to help him; no one was going to save him. He felt despair and fear close in on him, adding their weight to that of the black beast crushing in on him.

"What did you expect?" his mind whispered. "You never let them in. They wanted nothing from you, other than friendship, and you couldn't even grant that. All you cared for was revenge, all you lived for was hate. Cold and ruthless, until you destroyed everything with the cold fire of hate. Everything that had made you human --- gone. Now, you're nothing just a murderer. No one cares for you; no one will come. You deserve nothing."

"Shut up!" he screamed, desperate to silence the insidious voice. He wanted to scream it, he thought he screamed it but, perhaps, the beast had crushed so much breath from him he lacked the strength.

"Why?" the voice purred, undaunted, smug, and self-assured. "It's the truth. Give up. Let go. Everyone will be happier that way. Everyone will be safer."

"No!" he protested, but he could feel his conviction faltering, failing, along with his strength. "No," he repeated, his voice hesitant and wavering. He knew the protest was nothing more than a token --- more to convince himself than anything else. The hateful voice in his head wouldn't listen to him. It never did.

"Give up," the voice whispered back. "Just let go."

He didn't want to listen. As always, when told which course to take, his first reaction was to want to do the opposite. But, the voice was so sure, so smug. It sounded like a good idea, perhaps his only option at this point. He was tired of fighting. He felt like he'd been fighting for so long without ever gaining anything. All he'd managed to do was destroy anything that had been left of his soul, until everything was lost, everything was gone --- dead and buried, like his parents, like his dreams the way, in his heart, he knew even Aya-chan would be. Now, he was tired. He was so tired of it all. He wanted it to end, and, if he let go, he could finally rest.

"Give up," the voice whispered again. "Stop fighting. Let go."

"Yes," he whispered back. "I'm tired. Just make it stop. End it."

"Stop fighting," the voice purred, "Let go."

He released everything in response to the voice's silky-soft, whispered command --- all of the sadness, all of the regret, all of the anger, all of the hatred, all of the pain ---everything he'd been carrying for so long. He felt it flowing from him, and his body drifted further and further down into the deep blackness beckoning to him, cradled and welcomed by the beast. It was good. It was right. It was a relief to know everything would stop now, to know he could finally be free. As he sank down, deeper and deeper into nothingness, he finally felt free. This was right.

"AYA! AYA! You're not leaving me here alone, you asshole. You are **not** going to fucking die on me now!"

The voice cut through the darkness surrounding him, like a rope tossed to a drowning man. It pierced the black and drove the beast away. He was enveloped by soft, warm light. It was filled with caring, worry, fear, and, maybe, even love --- all of these things for him. It offered safety --- another way out besides that presented by the beast, a way in which he wouldn't be alone. He paused, looking toward the place from which he thought the voice came.

'Who?' he wondered. 'Who is that? Yohji? Would Yohji come for me? But he sounds terrified. It can't be; he's never scared of anything.' Still, he wanted to believe it. He listened harder, hoping against hope he'd hear the voice again, praying the light wouldn't leave him, but the new voice was stilled, and the light faded.

He resumed his descent into the pit, responding to the beast, following the little voice in his mind that assured him he was doing the right thing. It whispered to him, reassuring him: this was right; he should let go. And, he wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to do what it asked, to finally release it all --- everything he was, everything he could have been, everything he had become. But, again, the new voice the one with the light called out to him, compelling him to listen, begging him to turn his back on the beast.

"Aya! Aya, can you hear me? I said you're not going to fucking die on me, bastard. Aya, please!"

He couldn't ignore it. It was too strong, too compelling. He had to answer. He had no choice but to respond to the longing, pain, fear, and despair he heard in that voice --- mirror images for the feelings that threatened to shatter his soul. Aya turned toward it and the warm, comforting light embraced him, holding him safe and shattering the black trying to devour him.

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Hank returned from his on-shore supply run to find Yohji just where he had expected the tall blonde to be --- on deck, just beyond the boat's pilot house. They had been here for almost two weeks now, and, it seemed that Yohji was out here --- leaning against the rail, smoking, and staring at nothing --- whenever he wasn't with Aya. There was a strong wind coming off the ocean. It caused the boat to sway back and forth in the water and caught at Yohji's shoulder-length hair, sending it flying roughly about his face. Even so, the smoke from the tall man's cigarette seemed to hang around his head, almost like an ashy-gray halo. For a moment, Hank could almost believe it was a halo, marking the blonde for the fallen angel that he was. Despite the wet cold and stiff wind, the tall man wore no jacket, sought no protection from the elements. It was almost as if he couldn't feel the cold or the sting of the salt spray kicked up by the wind, which came as no surprise to Hank. Yohji had been through several kinds of hell in the past two weeks, and he was so physically and mentally exhausted that he had gone completely numb. As Hank watched from the pilot house, he found himself thinking that the blonde looked like a statue; the only movements the Texan could see were small ones when Yohji would lift the cigarette to his mouth, or briefly lift his hand to flick ashes into the water.

Hank sighed and sipped at his coffee, strangely comforted by the hot sting he felt as the liquid burned its way down his throat. He held the warm mug cupped in his left hand, helping his fingers fight off the constant chill that came off the water surrounding them. The Texan sighed again and ran his fingers through tangled, dark-brown hair streaked with gray --- an irritated, frustrated gesture. He had always worn his hair short, but, during the past couple of weeks, a hair cut had been the least of his worries. Now, the dark, grizzled tresses had grown out to almost shoulder-length, almost the same length as Yohji's, and Hank hated it. He couldn't wait until things settled down enough to allow him the mundane luxury of a visit to the barber shop. He had thought, more than once in the past few days, that, if he was going to continue hanging around with Yohji and Ran, he should probably get a buzz cut at the first opportunity. His hair seemed to grow by leaps and bounds, but these guys didn't seem able to spare the time or energy for normal, every-day necessities like getting their hair trimmed. No wonder they all had long, spiky hair.

His fingers located a particularly stubborn tangle, and, as they absently started to comb it out, he thought back over the events of the past few weeks. Everything was a big blur, almost like he'd been sucked up by one of the tornadoes that, in the spring, could come crashing down on his family's farm when he was a child. He found he was surprised at still being alive. He hadn't expected to survive even that first night, when Yohji had shown up at his door with a bleeding, half-dead Ran in his arms. After removing the bullet and patching Ran up as well as he could, Yohji had only remained at the apartment for a few days before announcing, one morning, that they needed to move on as quickly as possible, his apartment being too close to the flower shop for real comfort. At the time, Hank hadn't had a clue what had happened to Ran, or why he and Yohji were on the run. He still didn't, as Yohji only imparted the information he deemed necessary for Hank's assistance with their survival, which didn't amount to much. At any rate, the tall blonde had coldly insisted Hank was in this deal with them to the end, whether he liked it or not, and it was up to him to find them a suitable hiding place. Hank had maintained very friendly relations with some of the underworld characters who had employed him occasionally while he was living on the streets. He had contacted one man, a drug dealer who had had a particular liking for him, and asked for assistance, thereby acquiring the indefinite use of the large yacht on which they were currently residing. The arrangement had seemed to satisfy Yohji, especially since they were able to leave the harbor near the city and anchor in the ocean just beyond, which would make finding them much more difficult.

During the past two weeks, Hank had made several scavenging trips to different hospitals in the city, during which he stole the various medical supplies, drugs, and antibiotics Yohji demanded. At first, he had used his fear of Yohji to rationalize his new-found life of crime. After all, he had turned his life around, and, although he used to do less-than-savory things for less-than-savory people, all of that was over with --- in his past. He wasn't that person any more; he wasn't the kind of man who could steal without regret or guilt. The lies had been easy to believe, too, especially so because they weren't completely false. He had been desperately afraid of Yohji during those first few days. Instead of the friendly, joking, easy-going person he had come to know during his employment at the Koneko, he'd been faced with a Yohji who was angry, vengeful, and teetering on the brink of homicidal rage. He would have done anything to keep the blonde from killing him. But, after his initial shock over their situation had passed, Hank had been forced to admit he wanted to steal the things Yohji needed. He wanted to do it to help Ran. He owed Ran his life, and he would have done anything necessary to keep the redhead alive. He knew Yohji felt the same way, and that mutual feeling for their injured friend had managed to bring the two of them together again, drawing them back into a somewhat shaky friendship over the past few days. Not that he wasn't still afraid of Yohji. On the contrary, the tall blonde seemed just as dangerous and angry as ever, even more so because caring for Ran had him teetering on the verge of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion. Hank didn't think Yohji would kill him this minute, but he didn't doubt the blonde was capable of it. And, if Ran died, Yohji probably would carry through with his initial promise to end Hank's life.

At the moment, the redhead's survival seemed less than certain. It definitely wasn't a strong enough possibility to guarantee Hank's safety. Although Yohji had managed to remove all of the bullet fragments and repair the internal damage that first night, Ran had lost a lot of blood. To make matters worse, the gunshot wound and the wounds on his back had gotten infected, and Ran had developed a high fever. The redhead had yet to regain consciousness, and they had come close to losing him several times. Just last night, Hank had heard, from his cabin just a few doors down from Ran's, Yohji screaming at the younger man to hang on, begging him not to die. He could still remember the sound of terror and desperation in the blonde's voice, and, even now, it made him shiver with fear. Yohji had hardly left Ran's side. The yacht was large, with several rooms, and they were the only three people on it. Despite that fact, Yohji was bunking on the floor of the cabin in which they had put Ran upon initially boarding the boat.

The fact that he no longer had to steal the necessary medical supplies offered Hank some small measure of comfort. Yohji had come up with a few contacts of his own. He had been a private detective at one time --- "in another life", was how he had put it when he had told Hank that small bit about his past. Hank hadn't known about Yohji's previous occupation, but he hadn't been very surprised to find out the blonde had a few secrets. He hadn't been around Ran for very long before realizing the redhead had plenty of them, and, when he had stopped to think it through, he had realized none of the guys at the flower shop ever talked about their pasts or their futures --- a sure sign of people with too many secrets that are too painful to tell. A few well-placed phone calls on Yohji's part had put the blonde back in touch with Smitty, a former contact who could get pretty much anything they needed, and was very willing to do so for Yohji, no questions asked, and without telling anyone about it --- as long as the blonde's money was the right color and kept flowing his way freely. So, for the past week, Smitty had been providing them with all the supplies they needed - a list of medical supplies drawn up by Yohji, and a list of food supplies provided by Hank. It was more expensive than stealing, but it was a lot easier, and, probably, a lot safer.

A whine, accompanied by a small nudge at the back of his legs tore Hank away from his thoughts. He looked behind him, only to find Bubba sitting there, wriggling in anticipation. The big dog hardly left Ran's side. Normally, he refused to budge from the unconscious redhead's bed, but Hank had made a point of bringing some kind of treat back for the dog whenever he went on a supply run. Consequently, on supply days, Bubba was almost always waiting for the Texan's return. Hank smiled and knelt down to give the dog's ears a scratch. Ever since Ran had been injured, Bubba had become a whiney, forlorn, pathetic shell of the aggressive, stubborn dog he'd once been. Hank knew it was worry over his master, and he hoped Bubba would recover whenever Ran did. He didn't even let himself dwell on the possibility that Ran wouldn't recover. That would mean the end to all of them, and it just couldn't happen. He told himself it couldn't happen.

"So, Bubba," he said softly, still scratching behind the dog's ears. "You think I brought 'ya a little something, huh?"

When the ear scratch was over, the big dog shook his head, clinking his dog tags together, and wagged his stubby little tail until his rear end wriggled across the floor and his whole body shook, prompting an amused smile from Hank. The Texan took another look at Yohji, and then turned to descend the stairs leading from the pilot house, which was at the top of the boat, to the galley and cabins below deck. Bubba followed him, whining expectantly.

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	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The stairs led to a passageway running the length of the boat below deck. One end opened into the galley, which was at the front of the yacht. Opposite the galley were several cabins, all of which opened out onto this main passage. If he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right, Hank would pass two empty cabins on the right side of the passage, before he came to the one Ran and Yohji shared. If he continued in that direction, he would eventually reach his cabin, the last one on the left side of the passage, at the very rear of the boat. The cabins were small, containing nothing more than a trundle bed, which was attached to the wall across from the doorway, a writing desk attached to the wall under the port hole, a straight-backed, wooden desk chair, and a small chest-of-drawers.

Instead of going toward the cabins, Hank turned to the left, and, within ten long strides, entered the galley. It was fairly small, but serviceable enough. The galley was long and narrow, like a tunnel, and, if you stood in its doorway, which opened into the passageway, you found yourself directly across from the small stove and refrigerator, which lined the far wall. There were upper and lower cabinets lining both sides of the small, skinny room. The upper cabinets were white, with glass doors, which made it easy to see and retrieve the dishes stored there, while the lower cabinets, which were also white, had solid doors. They had taken to storing food and medical supplies in those. A small table, similar to the kind you'd normally find at a picnic ground --- rectangular, with two benches attached along either side of it --- took up most of the room's floor space.

Hank paused long enough to retrieve the large bone he had gotten for Bubba and to make a cup of coffee for Yohji. It looked like the tall blonde had been up on deck for some time, and he figured the kid could use something warm. He decided to wait out the few minutes it would take for the coffee to finish, and sank down onto one of the benches. Bubba somehow managed to squeeze his sizeable bulk under the little table, and contentedly began licking and munching at his bone. The little room was strangely quiet, as was the rest of the yacht. The only sounds that punctuated the eerie, almost oppressive, silence were the whines and snorts of delight Bubba unleashed as he chewed at his prize, as well as the occasional grating of his teeth against bone as he tried to gnaw the last bit of meat off of it. Hank drummed his fingers nervously on the table top, and the small sound seemed to grow and expand to fill the silence, until, in his mind, it became an almost deafening roar. Eventually, even Bubba tore his attention away from the bone to look at Hank expectantly. He stopped the drumming in response to the questioning look Bubba gave him, and the big dog quickly resumed his chewing, without giving his companion a second glance, or, apparently, a second thought.

Within a few minutes, the coffee was ready. Hank retrieved a mug from one of the upper cabinets and filled it with the steaming-hot liquid. It was just the way he thought coffee should be --- thick, black, and strong. He smiled slightly as he pictured the look Yohji would give him upon receiving the cup. The tall blonde had remarked, more than once, that you practically needed to use a fork to drink Hank's coffee. Once the cup was full, Hank took it and exited the galley, traveling down the passageway toward the cabin where Yohji and Ran were staying. Bubba grabbed his bone and trotted along behind him, dog tags clinking with every stride he took.

Hank thought, perhaps, Yohji had tired of the cold weather above deck and returned, in which case he could give him the coffee without having to travel back upstairs. Or, if the blonde was still outside, he figured he could retrieve a jacket for him. After all, there was no sense in having two sick men on the boat. Besides, in the quiet of the galley, he had had a sudden urge to check in on Ran, almost as if he could assure himself of the redhead's improvement just by looking at him.

Five steps brought him to Ran's cabin, and he paused for a moment outside the closed door. As always, he was almost afraid of going in; he was afraid he would find his young friend dead, and it normally took him a few moments to talk himself out of that fear. Hank reached out and gently pushed at the door, hoping to soundlessly open it just enough to see inside, but Bubba dashed his plan by shoving past him and using his big, square head to push it completely open. The door slammed against the nearest wall with a loud smack. Hank jumped involuntarily at the sound, spilling hot coffee on his hand in the process. Bubba shouldered his way into the room, oblivious to Hank's injury and the noisy entrance he had just made. The dog had to turn sideways to avoid hitting the ends of the bone against the doorframe, but he succeeded in getting into the room with only a little more noise, and triumphantly jumped onto the bed to settle down next to Ran with a satisfied sigh.

Hank frowned and shifted the hot cup to his other hand. He put the burned one into his mouth and sucked at the minor injury. Despite the noise, the figure in the bed never moved. Ran remained just as he had been for the past two weeks --- flat on his back, unconscious, with no sign he was aware of anything going on around him. Hank entered the room, setting the coffee cup down on the small chest-of-drawers near the door, and sat in the chair Yohji had pulled up next to the bed. He watched the younger man for a few moments, listening to his breathing, which, although still shallow and strained, seemed a little more even than before. Ran never moved at all in his sleep, giving no indication that he even knew anyone was there with him. Hank supposed the kid probably didn't know what was happening around him, and he probably couldn't hear them talking to him. Still, he knew Yohji talked to the redhead; he always heard the blonde's voice from the other side of the door, when he hesitated for a split second in front of this cabin as he passed by on his way to the galley. On the few occasions he'd been alone with Ran, mostly times like this, when Yohji was on deck, smoking, or when the tall blonde had left to run some secret errand, he had also talked to the redhead, telling him he was sorry for everything that had happened, and asking him to return to them before Yohji snapped. It never did any good; Ran never gave any indication of hearing, but Hank knew he would continue doing it, even if he never got a reaction from Ran. He did it because it made him feel better; he supposed Yohji did it for the same reason because it made them feel less alone and less at fault for what had happened.

"So, how 'ya feeling today, Ran?" he asked. He struggled to keep his voice light and cheerful, just in case the redhead could hear him, and he leaned forward slightly to brush away bangs that had become so long they virtually hid the younger man's eyes. He was relieved when he touched the redhead's skin and thought it seemed cooler than it had for the past two weeks. "So, maybe your fever broke, huh? You think you might wake up and talk back at us, soon? I know it'd make Yohji real happy; he's hardly left you ever since " his voice trailed off, as he found himself reluctant to finish the sentence.

Hank sighed and rose from the chair. He moved to the chest-of-drawers, and fumbled around in one drawer after another, until he located a jacket he knew belonged to Yohji. He draped the coat over one arm and gathered up the hot cup of coffee in his free hand, as he turned back toward Ran and said, with a smile, "Well, guess I'll duck out now. Yohji's up on deck again, smokin' in the cold, so I'm taking him a jacket and coffee. He's such an idiot. Couldn't take care of himself if you paid him. Besides, you've gotta get your beauty sleep, right?" He paused for a moment, and, when he continued speaking, his voice had taken on a sad tone, "He he needs you, Ran. He doesn't want to admit it, but he does. I get the feelin' neither of ya'll make friends that easy. You wouldn't you wouldn't just die and turn your back on your friend, would you? That's not the man I know, so you hang on, OK?" He smiled over at Ran one last time, before exiting the room.

***********************************************

Hank paused for a moment in the pilot house doorway, watching Yohji as the blonde leaned on the rail and smoked, silently flicking ashes into the sea and staring off into the distance, yet seeing nothing in particular. He wasn't strictly afraid of the man any longer, at least not like he had been after Ran was first injured, but, Yohji's temper was still very volatile. Hank never knew exactly what might set him off, or when some innocent remark, or, even, just his presence would cause Yohji to fly into a dangerous rage. It had happened more than once during their time together. Hank didn't hold it against him; he knew it only happened because Yohji was worried and exhausted from taking care of Ran. Still, whenever the blonde brooded like this, Hank was reluctant to approach him.

Finally, he decided he had stalled long enough. He squared his shoulders and mentally steeled himself for a potential confrontation, before exiting the pilot house. As he walked across the deck toward Yohji, he called out, "Hey! What'cha doing out here? Freezin' your ass off or what?"

He couldn't help but feel a little relieved when the tall blonde turned around briefly and smiled a greeting at him. "Here," he said, holding out the coat when he reached the railing to stand next to Yohji. "Figured you could use this. It's colder 'n a witch's tit out here."

Yohji couldn't suppress a soft chuckle. "Thanks," he muttered around the cigarette, which he stuck in his mouth, as he shrugged into the jacket Hank offered him.

Once he had donned the coat, Hank held the coffee out to him, saying, "Nothin' like a good cupa joe to warm you up."

Yohji tossed his spent cigarette overboard and took the offered cup. He looked down at it briefly before giving Hank a questioning, one-eyebrow-cocked look that seemed to say "you gotta be kidding, right?". But, as he took a sip, all he said was, "Joe is that some kind of American slang for black, muddy sludge?" He turned back toward the ocean, and sipped at the coffee, as Hank, who was laughing softly at Yohji's joke, moved in to lean against the rail beside him. "Supply run took a long time today," he commented, his voice taking on a hard, suspicious tone.

"Yeah," Hank replied, ignoring the suspicion and implied accusation in the blonde's tone. He was used to this kind of reaction from Yohji, and he supposed it was due him, considering he had been the one to betray Ran, in the first place. "I stopped off to do some laundry. I've been wearing the same shirt for four days, and it was starting to bother me. I washed your stuff, too. I left it in the galley, so you can get it whenever you want."

Yohji nodded. "Was everything there?"

"Yeah," Hank answered again, "Smitty had everything you requested, plus a little extra. He said he's going out of town for a few days, and he wanted you to be stocked up, in case you couldn't reach him."

"Hnh," Yohji snorted. He took another sip of coffee, grimacing slightly at the taste, and continued, "It's the least he can do, considering the money I'm paying him."

Hank silently watched the ocean for a few moments before saying, in a soft voice, "Stopped by to check on Ran when I got your coat. How how's he doin'?" He wasn't sure if he really wanted a response. The sound of Yohji begging Ran not to die still rang uncomfortably in his ears, and he was almost afraid of what the blonde would say.

At first, Yohji didn't respond, but his free hand clenched the railing so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He brought the coffee cup to his lips, with a shaking hand, and took a long sip before saying, "Better, I think. I think he's really sleeping, now. Fever finally broke last night, but " He let go of the railing and patted at the front of his shirt, searching for his pack of cigarettes in an absent-minded, almost involuntary manner. He finally located the package, only to hiss in frustration at finding it empty. He absently replaced the empty pack in his pocket and grasped the rail once more before continuing, "I thought I thought he wasn't going to make it there for a while, even last night. Shit! If **when** he recovers, I'm gonna beat the shit outta him for making me worry like this. That little bastard." He paused again, shaking his head, and then said, with a sigh, "It looks like the worst might be over now, though. I hope."

"Well, then," Hank said, keeping his voice cheerful and thumping Yohji on the back, "That's some damn good news, isn't it? Come on. Come in outta the cold. Besides, I bet you haven't eaten anything all day, right? I'll fix us up some lunch."

Yohji paused for a few seconds, before draining the coffee cup and saying, "Nah. Thanks anyways. I'm gonna go check on Aya again, and then, I have a couple of errands to run. I won't be back in time for dinner, either." He handed the empty cup to Hank, pointedly ignoring the surprised, questioning look in the dark-haired man's eyes, and, without another word or even a backward glance, crossed the deck to enter the pilot house.

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	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Yohji pulled the collar of his jacket up around his ears to shield them from the wind as he stepped off the motorboat they used to commute back and forth between the yacht and the city. It had been cold on the boat, which he had attributed to being on the water, but, now that he was on dry land again, he wasn't finding it to be much warmer. He shivered and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked off the pier, waving his thanks to the man who tied up the motorboat for him.

"Shit," Yohji muttered under his breath, as he made his way from the harbor to the stop for the bus that would take him to the district where the Koneko was located. "I know it's winter and everything, but, does it really have to be this fucking cold?" As he approached the bus stop, big, fat flakes of snow started falling. "Terrific. A walk in the snow. Just what I fucking need," he muttered, as he pulled off his sunglasses and attempted to brush a few errant flakes off of them, to no avail. He finally gave up, and replaced them on his face just as the bus arrived.

***********************************

Yohji sat in a coffee shop about ten blocks away from the Koneko, slowly sipping a cup of coffee and, occasionally, checking his watch. On his way there, he had stopped off at a convenience store to purchase two pre-loaded cell phones, which were, currently, resting on the table top in front of him. He knew he was taking a huge chance --- with Aya's life, as well as his own --- but, he had to contact Omi and Ken. The four of them had been together for too long, and had been through too much for him to leave them with no word and no reassurance. They were family, and you just didn't treat family like that. Still, he knew Kritiker was looking for Aya, and, now, probably for him, too, considering he'd gone rogue to help the redhead. So, he had to be extremely careful in his planning, or what he intended as a supportive gesture of friendship could end up getting Ken and Omi killed, too. Yohji didn't think he could take that. He didn't care much about his own life, but he hated the fact that he had yet to figure out a way of getting Aya out of this mess alive. He had come up with innumerable plans during the past two weeks, only to discard each one, when the trail of logic had, inevitably, led him to the redhead's death. Knowing he had doomed Omi and Ken, too, would just be too much to bear.

So, he had been planning. For the past week, he had left the yacht at different times during the day to disappear into the city for hours on end. He wasn't wild about leaving Aya alone with Hank. Although he had let go of the fear that Hank was a member of Schwarz, he still hadn't completely forgiven the man for Aya's current predicament; after all, Hank had betrayed the redhead to Schuldich, which was the catalyst that had started this whole snowball rolling downhill toward Hell. Still, he did think Hank was sorry for what he'd done, and the Texan had been struggling to make amends. Besides, it couldn't be helped. It was bad enough Aya and he had left without a word to the rest of the team; he wasn't going to let Omi and Ken wallow in fear and worry over what might have happened to them. But, contacting them required a lot of planning, which meant hours of surveillance.

And, that's exactly what Yohji had been doing during all those trips to town --- watching. Each time, he had picked a strategically located spot near the shop --- sometimes a partially-hidden alley across the street, sometimes a vacant building overlooking the shop, sometimes a bus stop bench, but never the same place twice --- and simply watched the daily activity for hours, trying to pick up on any patterns that might make it easier for him to contact the remaining two Weiss members without being discovered by Kritiker. It was risky, coming so close to the Koneko, but he was good at blending into the crowd and going unnoticed; you don't survive very long as an assassin if you stick out too much.

He had figured Kritiker would place agents with Omi and Ken almost immediately upon learning of his and Aya's disappearance, and he had figured Kritiker would probably find out they were gone without having to be told by the two youngest team members. From what Aya had told him, he had taken out the two Kritiker agents assigned to "retire" him, and Yohji figured, once the organization found those two guys, the flower shop would be their first stop. His first surveillance trip had told him his hunches were, as always, dead-on accurate. He had seen two new guys working the shop with Omi and Ken. From the tense way the two youngest Weiss members behaved around the new arrivals, and from the inept manner in which the new guys interacted with the shop's normal retail crowd, Yohji had guessed that, while they were definitely Kritiker agents, the new arrivals weren't operatives, which meant Kritiker had placed the men there to spy on Omi and Ken, in the hopes that the two of them would slip up, and, somehow, lead them to the missing part of the team. Yohji had come to that conclusion with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was angry with Kritiker, not only because they were trying to kill Aya, but also because of the strain and stress under which they were placing Omi and Ken, who were both completely innocent in this whole mess. Yet, on the other hand, the agents' placement at the shop told him Kritiker had no leads on Aya's location, a fact that made Yohji undeniably relieved and happy.

After watching and recording the daily activity around the shop for the past week, Yohji had managed to figure out the small hole in the net Kritiker had thrown around Ken and Omi a small flaw that would make it possible for him to contact the youngest Weiss members without being detected. At first, the Kritiker agents hadn't left either of the remaining assassins alone at all during the day. Each time he had seen either Omi or Ken leave for deliveries or on some other errand, they had been accompanied by one, or the other, agent, and there hadn't been a time when the remaining part of Weiss were alone in the shop. But, it seemed that two weeks with no leads as to the whereabouts of the A.W.O.L. team members had made the agents rather sloppy in their work; probably, Kritiker had concluded their two missing assassins had fled the city, and, maybe even the country, by now. Within the past few days, Yohji had noticed that the Kritiker agents had started leaving at the same time every day to report in to Persia, and they had started leaving together, which meant that, for almost an hour, Omi and Ken were alone in the shop, left to their own devices.

"You want a refill, hon?" the waitress' smoky-hoarse voice cut into Yohji's thoughts, jarring him painfully back to the present.

He looked briefly up at the waitress, who was watching him expectantly, coffee pot tilted just above the rim of his cup, and then checked his watch. It read 3:30 PM, almost time for the Kritiker agents to leave. He looked back at the woman, who was still watching him, and smiled as he realized, for the first time, that he had yet to answer her.

"No. No, thanks," he said, giving her another Kudou, lady-killer smile. "Just the check, please."

She frowned at him, seemingly oblivious to his charm, which had always been so deadly to members of the opposite sex, and, with a roll of her eyes and an irritated sigh, pulled the check from her apron pocket and tossed it onto the table before turning on her heel to stalk back to the cash register. Perhaps, considering all he'd been through during the past few weeks, he was losing his powers over women. Yohji considered this for a moment, and then shrugged the thought off entirely, chuckling to himself. No, that was absurd. She was probably just in a bad mood because she'd been on her feet all day, and he, cheap bastard that he was, had only ordered coffee, which meant she was getting a lousy tip. Yohji shrugged. There were some things that even his charm couldn't fix.

After the waitress departed, Yohji surveyed the two pre-paid phones for a moment. One of them was blue, and the other, red. He didn't know what had possessed him to purchase such brightly-colored ones. It did seem a bit odd, considering he was supposed to be so secretive, and everything, and a bright color was the easiest way for something to get noticed. Possibly, it was because his whole world lately seemed filled with so much gray, due to the absolute and utter hopelessness and helplessness he felt about Aya's situation. He didn't really know, and he didn't have time to analyze it now; he silently told himself it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and let it drop at that.

He reached out and grabbed one of the phones at random --- the red one. Flipping it over, he pulled a flower shop business card out of his pocket and copied the phone's number onto its back. Below it, he wrote: _"Don't call from shop. Go to park down the street." _Sighing, Yohji stuffed the blue phone and the business card into the small, cardboard box that was also sitting on the table. He sealed the box, wrote the flower shop's address on its top, and then rose, draining the last of the coffee from his cup as he stood. He flipped over the check, and, seeing that it totaled out to $1.50, he dug $21.50 from his pocket and left it on the table as he walked from the shop without so much as a backward glance to acknowledge the forcedly cheerful "Have a nice day" the waitress called out at his retreating back. Once on the street, he shoved the red cell in his pocket, hitched his collar up against the wind and snow, and quickly walked the ten blocks that would put him in front of the shop.

*********************************************************

Yohji paused in the dark, partially-hidden alleyway across from the flower shop. With a pang of feeling maybe regret, maybe sadness he wasn't quite sure which he watched as Omi and Ken worked outside the store, getting ready for the end of the business day. Ken pulled down the awning that shaded the store's front window, dumping snow on Omi's head in the process, and Yohji smiled at the boy's shrill cry of irritation. Ken just laughed, which prompted Omi to chase after the ex-goalie, who nimbly evaded him by ducking in and around the few winter-hardy pot plants that decorated the sidewalk in front of the store. Finally, all rough horseplay aside, Omi moved to begin taking the plants in for the evening. Yohji couldn't hold back a wistful smile as he watched the kid attempt to lift a plant that was almost as big as he was. Omi teetered backward, coming perilously close to crashing through the newly-repaired front window, and Ken, seeing his friend's plight, dashed over to help. Yohji couldn't hear the words being spoken, but he could tell, by the tilt of Ken's head and Omi's down-cast eyes, that the ex-goalie was severely scolding the youngest Weiss member for his carelessness. Yohji thought about what would happen next: after gathering all the plants inside, they would probably go in for the evening, retreating up to the apartment above the shop for dinner, and, afterward, Ken would, most likely, plop down in front of the TV with a huge bowl of popcorn to whoop and holler at a televised soccer game, while Omi would probably spend the rest of the evening working on his computer. If Aya and he had been there, he knew the redhead would help Omi with dinner, eat in silence, and then retreat to his room, or, on rare occasions, to the living room, to read. Even though Aya was usually fairly quiet and uncommunicative around them, none of them really minded. They had all grown comfortable with the redhead's habits during their time together, and his silent presence was comforting and familiar. As for himself, Yohji smiled as he pictured how he would have, of course, refused to help with dinner at all, and stayed in the living room, in front of the TV, constantly complaining about how hungry he was and asking when dinner would be ready, until Aya finally broke his silence long enough to tell him to shut the hell up.

The tall blonde was surprised to feel tears sliding over his cheeks. He hadn't realized he was crying, and the emotion he felt at watching this familiar, night-time scene surprised him. He hadn't ever admitted it to anyone else, but closing time had always been his favorite part of the day. Even on evenings when he went out, which, before all this mess with Aya, had been most every evening, he had always made it a point to stay home long enough to eat dinner with his little adopted family, reveling in the quiet that descended over the shop and apartment at the end of the day, and, possibly, if he could admit it to himself, deluding himself into thinking they were actually "normal", "ordinary" guys. If the truth was known, the rest of the team probably felt the same way. Now, though, standing across the street and watching the achingly familiar scene as an outsider just reminded him of how much he had lost, and, if Aya died, how much more they all stood to lose in the near future. Yohji felt his throat tighten and his heart clench in his chest at the thought, and he irritably wiped his gloved hands roughly across his face to displace the unwanted tears.

When the two Kritiker agents emerged from the shop and walked away, without so much as a backward glance at Omi and Ken, Yohji looked down at his watch. "Right on time," he whispered as he saw that the time read 4:00 pm.

A little boy, one that Yohji vaguely recognized as one of Ken's soccer kids, walked by at that opportune moment. Yohji reached out, lightening-quick, to grab the kid's arm and yank him back into the alley. He immediately cupped his hand over the boy's mouth to stifle his outcry of surprise. The last thing he needed was for the damn kid to alert Ken, Omi, or, even worse, the two departing Kritiker flunkies, to his presence, which would, of course, completely ruin all the hours of planning he'd done.

"Hey, kid," he said, leaning down to look the frightened boy in the face. He still held one hand cupped over the kid's mouth, but he smiled at the boy over the rims of his sun glasses, and asked, "You're one of Ken's soccer kids, right?" The boy stared at him with wide, frightened, blue-violet eyes that uncomfortably reminded Yohji of Aya, but the kid stopped trying to struggle away and nodded. At that response, Yohji continued, "You remember me? I used to work with Ken in the flower shop over there?" The boy squinted as he strained to get a closer look at Yohji in the alley's quickly-deepening darkness, but, finally, he nodded. "If I take my hand away, you're not gonna scream, right?" The boy shook his head in response, and Yohji removed his hand. He looked down at his glove and frowned when he realized the kid had slobbered all over it. Still frowning, Yohji wiped the palm of his hand against his pant leg, at the same time reaching around with his other hand to dig his wallet out of his back pocket. "Listen," he told the kid, "I need a favor. I need you to take this package," he held the box out to the boy, "over to Ken, and tell him a deliveryman asked you to drop it off. I'll give you $10 if you do it."

"OK," the boy replied.

He took the offered money, tucked the box under his arm, and, after a quick check of traffic, darted across the street to where Ken and Omi stood on the sidewalk in front of the store. Yohji watched as the kid handed the box to Ken, who stared at it briefly before tearing it open roughly, with shaking hands. The tall blonde shrank further into the alley's shadows as Ken removed the blue cell phone and business card from the box, calling Omi over in the process, and the two of them stared across the street, as if trying to see into the alley's darkness. Yohji knew they couldn't see him, but he also knew they were aware he was there, all the same. He tarried long enough to watch Ken and Omi both retreat into the store and re-emerge onto the sidewalk within seconds. As his teammates hurried away from the Koneko, Yohji stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked in the opposite direction, toward the other end of the alley, which would put him on a street only three blocks from the park.

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	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Yohji reached the park, which was in the middle of a small, newly-redeveloped neighborhood, slightly before the sun set. He quickly scanned the area, but, finding no sign of Ken or Omi, he sank down onto a bench that, although hidden in deep shadow, offered an unobstructed view of the entrance, and waited. Although you could usually find people in the park at all hours of the day or night --- lovers strolling arm-in-arm, mothers with children, groups of kids playing various sports, or people sitting and enjoying the air --- the grounds were almost deserted this evening, probably because of the cold weather and the snow. He sighed and removed his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and then ran his hand through his hair, which was matted and tangled, thanks to almost an entire day spent in the wind and snow. He hadn't realized how long his hair had become during the past two weeks, and he felt a little twinge of surprise to realize his fingers now traveled well past his shoulders before running out of hair. Changing his appearance had seemed like a good idea, and he had, briefly, thought about cutting his hair, but he hadn't had the heart to do it. He had always looked so stupid with short hair, anyhow, so he had decided to just leave it as it was and take a chance on someone from Kritiker recognizing him on the street. So far, though, it hadn't proved to be a problem, probably because he had one of those faces that sort of "blended in", despite his unusual hair and eye coloring. Now, Aya well, that was a different story. That guy stood out like a sore thumb, with his porcelain-white skin, fine-boned facial features, and bluish-violet eyes not to mention the red hair. Yohji sighed as he thought, for a moment, it was probably a good thing he was the one doing all this surveillance work in the city, instead of Aya.

Yohji quickly broke away from that train of thought before images of his injured friend flashed through his memory. He needed to think clearly and carefully now that he was in the city, so close to Kritiker's watchful eyes, and he couldn't do that if he started thinking about Aya being injured, or, worse, possibly dying. He leaned back and stared at the quickly-darkening sky, watching as the first few stars winked into view. Drawing on a childhood memory, he stared at the first star he saw and silently wished for Aya's safety. He felt foolish doing such a childish thing, but, at this point, he figured it couldn't hurt. Hey, who knew? Maybe it would even help.

Yohji leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and surveyed the neighborhood around the park. The flower shop hadn't ever been in the greatest district in the city, a fact that never seemed to bother any of them. After all, if you're an assassin and you want to hide out in plain view, it's best to do so in places where people know better than to ask a lot of questions. The park, where Ken always took his soccer kids to play, had long been a small oasis of green, albeit littered with trash, amidst what were, mainly, run-down, slummy, high-rise apartment buildings. Within the past couple of years, though, there had been a huge push by the city government to encourage urban renovation or, as the politicos called it, "urban reclamation". As far as Yohji could tell, that was just a fancy term for sprucing things up and driving decent, hard-working people from their homes by raising rents to an unaffordable level. Now, the high-rise buildings that surrounded and towered over the park had, for the most part, all been renovated into "luxury condominiums", "luxury town homes", and "luxury apartments", and young, upwardly-mobile people, mostly couples with small children, had, largely, replaced the poorer folks --- single parents, or single-income, blue-collar families --- who used to live in the low-rent buildings. The crime rate in the district had dropped drastically, which Yohji attributed more to the increased police presence in the area than to the district's newer demographics, and the change had proven to be fairly good for the Koneko. Most months now, it actually almost broke even, despite the fact that none of them knew or cared anything about running the business or even kept the store open for what passed as "regular" business hours. Somehow, Yohji found it oddly ironic that they would probably be able to make the shop into a profitable, going concern just at the time the demographic shift and corresponding heightened police presence in the neighborhood made the likelihood of their "real" jobs being exposed to the public a near certainty. He knew Kritiker had, more than once in the past year, thought of moving them to a new, "safer" location.

The cell phone in his pocket jangled to life, making him jump and drawing him away from his thoughts, and Yohji looked up to see Omi and Ken enter the park. The two of them stopped at the entrance, briefly scanning the area for some sign of him, but Yohji knew they couldn't see him. He was too well-hidden in the shadows. Omi was holding the phone, evidently making him the one who had dialed in the number to Yohji's cell, but both young assassins were able to listen in to the conversation, thanks to a splitter, which Omi had attached to the phone, enabling them to use two headphones and microphones at one time.

By the third ring, Yohji managed to pull the phone out of his inner coat pocket. He punched the talk button, and, after a brief pause, said, in a soft voice, "Yeah?"

He heard Omi's sigh of relief before the boy's shaky voice emanated from the phone, sounding tinny due to the cell's poor auditory quality, "Yo Yohji? Is it really you? Where are you?"

"Yeah, it's me," Yohji replied. "I'm close by, but don't try to find me. Just pick a bench and sit. These phones aren't traceable, but I don't want to take any chances on Kritiker homing in on the signal. So, we're gonna have to talk fast."

There was a pause, accompanied by Ken and Omi's muffled voices as the two discussed the best place to sit.

'Shit,' Yohji thought, irritably, 'they're just park benches. One's just like another; just pick a fucking place and sit the hell down.'

He saw his teammates finally land in a spot --- a bench almost directly across from him, which made him wonder if, perhaps, they had seen him, after all.

Within a second or two, Ken's voice came over the phone, "What the fuck is going on?"

Yohji couldn't suppress a chuckle, and he laughed harder in response to the exasperated sighs he heard from his two younger teammates. "Always the direct one, aren't you, Ken?" he asked, still laughing.

"This is **not** funny," Omi's scared voice cut in, and the fear Yohji heard completely dried up his laughter.

"Yeah, you're right. It's not funny," he replied.

"We've been so worried about you about both of you," Omi continued. "What happened? We woke up to find both of you gone nothing but a pool of blood on the floor in Aya's room. No note, no explanation nothing. Then, that same day, a Kritiker agent we've never met shows up and starts asking all kinds of questions --- have we heard from you or Aya; where do we think Aya would go to hide; why were you gone, too; did we think it was because Aya had killed you; did Aya threaten us --- stuff like that. Manx and Persia wouldn't even return our calls. Then, two days after that, Manx shows up, says we're off active until they can locate replacements for you and Aya, and then places these two Kritiker agents with us in the shop. She said it was to ensure our safety, but it seemed more like spying to us. And, "ensure our safety" from whom? Aya? You? From the way she said they were looking for replacements " Omi's voice trailed off as he stifled a small, almost inaudible sob.

"We thought you guys were dead," Ken cut in, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "So, what the fuck is going on?"

Yohji would have chuckled at Omi's impeccably precise, yet completely subconscious, use of the word "whom" instead of "who", if it hadn't been for the small sob he had heard at the end of the kid's statement. He took a deep breath and debated on the best way to explain things to his friends. Finally, he concluded there wasn't really a good, concise way to explain everything; he'd just have to fumble ahead as best as he could.

"A lot of shit's hit the fan," Yohji replied.

"Yeah," Ken stated, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm, "We gathered as much. Now, would you like to explain just what kind of shit we're talking about?"

Normally, the ex-goalie's tone would have made Yohji furious, but the older blonde knew it was just a product of the stress Ken and Omi had been under for the past several days. Yohji decided to ignore the obvious challenge in his dark-haired teammate's words. Sighing tiredly, he said, "Kritiker is after Aya. And, I guess, they're probably after me, too. That night you know, after the day he disappeared with those agents all day? He came back to the shop late. He only wanted to stay long enough to gather up a few things and then leave without telling anyone. He didn't want any of us to know, didn't want us involved, I guess. But, I heard him in his room, and, then, I left with him. I'm sorry about not leaving some kind of explanation, but we couldn't take the chance of Kritiker knowing for sure that he'd been there. They might have thought you guys were involved, too, and Aya didn't want to drag you into this mess."

"What kind of mess?" Ken asked, his tone suspicious and wary, as if he knew he had to ask, but really didn't want to know the answer.

"Kritiker wants to "retire" Aya," Yohji replied, as calmly as he could. "They tried to that day, but he managed to get away from them. I'm not going to let that happen to him, not if I can help it, that is, so that's about it for us, as far as the organization is concerned. I don't want to involve you guys, but, we're all family here. I couldn't stand to just disappear without giving you some explanation. I figure you guys deserve better than that, and I know Aya would agree with me."

"Why does Kritiker want to "retire" Aya?" Ken asked. "Is it because of the Schuldich thing?"

'Always a little slow on the uptake, aren't you, Ken?' Yohji thought irritably. He sighed, and patiently replied, "Yeah. Because of the Schuldich thing. And, because they found out about Hank working there. They don't know who Hank is, but they found out someone was working there. They managed to put two and two together and come up with four."

"Meaning?" Ken asked.

Yohji sighed irritably. "Look, I'm trying to be nice because this is probably the last time I'll ever talk to you guys, but, geez, Ken! Get a fucking clue! Kritiker figured out whoever was working for us in the shop was the one who either let Schu in or gave him the security codes. They wanted Aya to tell them who Hank was, promised to let him off if he did, but Aya refused." Yohji sighed again, choking down a sob he felt building in his throat, before quietly continuing, "So, they decided to go through with their initial plan to "retire" him."

"Initial plan?" Ken asked. "Sorry for being dense, but ,"

"Apparently," Yohji said, cutting Ken off in mid-sentence, "Kritiker has been threatening Aya with retirement for some time now. Manx had been calling him daily for at least two months, but he never told any of us."

"That's not true," Omi's voice cut in, "He told me about her calling. Sorry I never mentioned it, but Aya told me not to. He said, then, that he thought Kritiker was going to retire him but, I just couldn't believe it. Aya hasn't done anything. Why? Why would they do that?"

"Because," Yohji said, this time unable to control the shake in his voice, "Aya's been taking the blame for our screw-ups for a really long time. Kritiker finally decided that his fuck-up potential outweighed his usefulness as an assassin, especially when compounded with Schu-Schu's breach of our security."

As he had expected, both Omi and Ken were silent for several minutes as they allowed the weight and meaning of Yohji's words to sink in. Obviously, they hadn't had any idea of what Aya had been doing to protect them.

"Wait a minute," Omi said, as something Yohji had said earlier finally triggered a response in his brain, "You said you knew Aya would feel the same way about owing us an explanation. Isn't he with you?"

"Yeah, Aya's with me," Yohji replied, hedging a bit in an attempt to avoid telling them Aya was fighting for his life.

Omi didn't fall for it, though. Yohji had hoped he would, but he wasn't surprised his attempt at a half-truth didn't work. The kid was far more perceptive than he should have been for his age, probably because he'd been raised as an assassin. Killing people for a living necessarily made you perceptive about the things others hid from you.

"Fine," Omi snapped. "Put him on the phone. I want to talk to him."

Yohji hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough to allow Omi to conclude something was wrong.

"Where is he?" Omi asked, fear once again edging into his voice. "Did he leave you? Did you lose him?"

Yohji was surprised to hear a small, strangled sob escape his throat. He hadn't realized he was crying. He wiped the tears roughly away as he said, "Aya Aya's not doing too good right now." He took a deep breath, and then plunged ahead with the rest of what he had to say. "He he didn't get away clean from Kritiker. Those agents shot him."

"Bad?" Omi squeaked.

Ken didn't say anything, but Yohji could hear his breathing quicken as he awaited an answer.

Finally, conceding defeat, Yohji allowed his head to drop into the palm of his free hand. He managed to choke out, in a muffled voice, "Yeah. The bullet was still in him when he got back to the shop that night. I I didn't even know how badly he was hurt until he collapsed after we left. I don't know how he even managed to get away, considering." Yohji took another deep breath, managing to calm his voice, and continued, "I I got the bullet out, but I couldn't do anything more than a patch job. And, he'd already lost so much blood. Plus, the wound and the injuries on his back got infected, and there was such a high fever" Yohji's voice trailed off into a broken, little sob.

After a moment, Omi asked, his voice breaking, "Is is he dead?"

"Not yet," Yohji replied. He heard two sighs of relief on the other end of the phone, and then continued, "But, I still don't know if he's gonna make it. He hasn't woken up, and it's been almost two weeks. He's back at our hideout, safe for now. Look, even if he does make it, I can't really see a way out of this except letting him turn himself over to Kritiker, which, of course, I'm not going to allow."

"No!" Ken hissed. "There has to be a way. There has to be some way to change Kritiker's mind, to get them to leave Aya alone, to get him back into Weiss."

Yohji sighed, "I'm I'm sorry. Bye." Before either of his teammates could protest, he clicked the "end" button, severing their connection.

He waited there for another thirty minutes, watching as Omi and Ken sat, dumfounded, on the park bench, neither of them saying anything, both of them staring blankly into space. It eventually seemed to be too much for Omi to handle. Always the most emotional of the group, the young blonde buried his head in his cupped hands. Even without the phone, Yohji could hear him sobbing. Finally, Ken stood, pulling Omi up behind him, and led the crying boy out of the park. Yohji waited for an additional ten minutes, to make sure they were really gone from the area, before leaving his bench to cross the pathway and exit the park. On his way out, he paused by a trash can and dropped the cell phone into it, severing his last tie to half of what he had come to think of as his family.

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	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Aya slowly came awake, acutely aware he was being stared at intently. Forcing his eyes open was, apparently, a long, drawn-out process containing more than a few kinks. It had seemed like a simple enough idea when his brain had whispered it to him, but he couldn't get his body to respond to his brain's demands. He didn't like the idea of being stared at, but the darkness surrounding him seemed a preferable alternative to arguing with his stubborn body. He felt like he had been enveloped in it for a long time, and it was warm, safe, and comfortable as it beckoned to him with soft, reassuring fingers. He wanted to go back there, to keep his eyes closed and give in to his body's demands for rest. Besides, he rationalized, his recent past history, added to the fact he felt like he'd been run over by a cement truck or something, meant it was probably only Yohji staring at him. For some reason, the thought of the tall blonde watching him didn't bother him all that much.

Aya had almost convinced his brain to give up on the idea of opening his eyes when something cold and wet splashed onto his face. The unpleasant sensation banished all thoughts of rest from his mind, and he forced his eyes open, only to be met with total and complete black. At first, he panicked, his befuddled, frazzled mind thinking he'd gone blind, but, then, the blackness moved a bit. Aya squinted and, after some effort, managed to focus in on the dark mass hovering above him. It turned out to be a large, square, drooling head, with floppy ears and two deep-set, yellow eyes.

"Bubba," Aya croaked, his voice hoarse, and his throat sore.

The big dog was standing on the bed, straddling him and looking down into Aya's face expectantly, dog nose just inches away from human nose. His floppy little ears were cocked forward, as if he anticipated some huge, exciting activity at any moment, and he was drooling liberally. A long string of doggy slobber hung from one side of his mouth, but, at the mention of his name, Bubba wagged his tail and shook his head, scattering the drool all around the tiny room. He leaned in closer to Aya and licked the redhead, liberally coating his face with drool. Aya waved his hand weakly in a miserably inadequate effort to shoo the dog away.

Finally, Aya sighed and gave up on moving Bubba off of him. The dog was too big and heavy, and he felt too weak to force the animal off of the bed. Besides, Bubba was terribly excited at seeing his person finally awake, and Aya had learned, early on, the best thing to do in such a situation was ride the excitement out. It would pass, eventually --- hopefully, before he drowned in doggy drool. At least the animal was standing, instead of lying on top of him. His body felt so achy and tender, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to stand the extra weight. Aya placed his arm across his face, maneuvering it around Bubba's head and tongue to do so, thereby affording him a little protection from the big dog's affection. He cringed as the licking continued, until slobber and drool practically dripped from his arm. It made him want to bolt out of bed and right into the shower.

"What the hell?" Yohji's voice cut through the quiet, little room, immediately drawing Bubba's attention away from Aya. The tall blonde crossed from the doorway to the bed in two strides, and angrily pulled at the dog's collar, "Get the hell offa there! You trying to crush him or what? Stupid dog."

Bubba gave an unhappy little sound, a cross between a huff and a grunt, but, thankfully, he acquiesced in Yohji's request and jumped off of the bed, landing with a heavy, solid thud. He paused long enough to sit in the middle of the floor, commandeering the tiny room's limited empty space long enough to leisurely scratch behind his ears, which caused his tags to jingle madly. With that task done, Bubba returned to the bed, placed his front paws on it, and leaned over Aya to retrieve his bone. Then, he turned and trotted out of the room without a backward glance.

"Stupid dog," Yohji repeated, shaking his head as he sank into the chair next to the bed. His seated vantage point made him aware of a tired, slightly-dazed, blue-violet eye peering at him from underneath Aya's arm, and he leaned forward, asking, "Awake?"

Aya moved his arm away from his face and stared at the ceiling directly above the bed, as he replied, in a hoarse voice, "Hnh." He cleared his throat, and then continued, as he wiped his wet arm on the bed sheets, "Yeah I think so."

Yohji smiled. Relief surged through his body, making him painfully aware of exactly how exhausted he was. He hadn't realized it until just now, but the past two weeks had taken a huge mental and physical toll. He took a sip of coffee before asking, "Hungry?"

When Aya nodded in response, Yohji stood and turned to leave, calling out behind him, "I'll make you some soup, OK? Be right back."

Left alone in the small room, Aya struggled to remember what had happened and where he was. He didn't recognize this place, and that frightened him. But, Yohji was near. The tall blonde's familiar presence was comforting, and Aya told himself there must not be any danger. Yohji wouldn't let anything happen to him. No matter how hard he thought about it, though, Aya couldn't remember coming here. He couldn't remember anything after Yohji had walked in on him while he was preparing to flee the flower shop. He could hear Yohji moving around, and it sounded like he wasn't too far away, a fact which Aya found comforting, and which also told him this place --- wherever they were --- was probably not very big. This room was certainly pretty small. But, even more troubling than not being able to remember where he was or how he got here, it seemed as if everything was swaying. Aya couldn't decide whether he was dizzy, or if the place really was moving. He shook his head slightly, grimacing at the pain the small movement caused, and decided it was stupid to think the building they were in was swaying. It was most likely due to his injuries, which, from the way he felt, must have been pretty severe.

Within a few minutes, Yohji returned with a steaming cup, which he set down on the chest-of-drawers near the door. He crossed over to Aya's side and asked, "Want me to help you sit up?"

Aya nodded, and Yohji pulled him into a sitting position. He leaned heavily against the older man's chest, too tired and weak to push away, as the blonde arranged pillows along the wall behind him, like a make-shift chair back. Then, he gently eased back until he was sitting up, leaning against the pillows for support.

Aya closed his eyes for a moment. The swaying motion and sitting up were both making him dizzy, and he struggled to regain some equilibrium, while Yohji watched him worriedly. Finally, he opened his eyes, blinking a few times, and gave the tall blonde a half-hearted smile.

Yohji smiled back and crossed over to the dresser to retrieve the cup. "Hope this is OK," he said, as he sat back down in the chair and held the cup out to Aya. "Careful, it's really hot. I think I got a little over zealous with the microwave but, I never was the best cook, you know."

Aya gave a half-smile in response to Yohji's little joke. He reached out to take the cup, nodding his thanks at Yohji when the tall blonde steadied his shaking hands.

"It's OK now. I've got it," he mumbled, when he finally managed to get a good grip on the cup.

Yohji released his hold on Aya's hands and leaned back, watching as his friend tentatively sipped at the hot soup.

After a few moments, Yohji asked, in a hesitant voice, "Feeling all right?"

"Yes," Aya replied. Then, he shook his head and said, "Well, no not really." In response to the worried question he saw in Yohji's eyes, he said, "Everything everything's swaying back and forth."

Yohji surprised Aya by laughing. "It's OK," he said, when he finally managed to find his voice, "We're on a boat."

Aya's eyes widened slightly as comprehension of Yohji's statement sank in. Finally, he said, "Oh," and returned to silently sipping his soup. After a few moments, he peered at his companion over the rim of the cup and commented, "You look like shit, Yohji. Are **you** all right?"

Yohji laughed again, and ran his fingers through his hair as he said, "I could say the same for you." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and the look on his face became instantly serious as he said, in a quiet voice, "Damn, you scared me, Aya. I I really didn't think you were going to make it, this time. I really didn't."

Aya stared at Yohji, shocked by the fear he heard in the older man's voice. Finally, he asked, "What happened?"

"You remember getting shot by Kritiker?" Yohji asked. When Aya nodded, the blonde continued, "After you went back to the shop and I found you in your room, I grabbed my stuff and left with you. We didn't get very far before you collapsed. I I hadn't even realized you were hurt not until then. I didn't know where to go. I mean, since it was Kritiker we were running away from, all the safe houses were off limits, and so were the hospitals, so I took you to Hank's apartment."

He saw the look of panic that flickered through Aya's eyes, and waved his hand through the air between them as he reassured, "Don't worry. I didn't hurt him. I wanted to, but I didn't. I did make him help me, though --- sent him out to steal the medical supplies I needed. Because, of course, while you managed to remember to grab your damn sword, you didn't take one of the medical kits. Shit, Aya! I'll never understand how your mind works oh, sure, when you've been shot and are bleeding to death, you're really gonna need a shiny, pointy piece of metal but, bandages, antibiotics, stuff like that no way!"

He smiled as Aya shrugged off his little attempt to lighten the mood by joking. "Anyhow," he said, looking at the floor, "the bullet wound was bad worse than I had expected a real mess. The bullet had broken up when it hit your ribs, and there were pieces of it everywhere. I dug them all out and patched you up the best I could. We stayed there for a couple of days, but I was worried Kritiker would catch up to us because his place is so close to the shop. Hank knew this guy he used to work for, you know, when he lived on the streets. Anyhow, this guy isn't exactly on the straight and narrow, which, in my opinion is probably a good thing, considering our current situation, and he had a boat. He told Hank we could use it. So, here we are, anchored at sea, away from the city. But, then I don't know everything just got worse. Your wound and the injuries from that fight with Schuldich got infected and "

His voice trailed off as he struggled to keep it from shaking. When he managed to get it under control, he continued, "You were so damn sick high fever, hallucinations, the whole damn thing. Shit, I don't think I've ever been that scared in my fucking life. I've seen you hurt before, but not like this you almost died. Two, maybe even three times, I thought, 'This is it.' But, somehow, you managed to pull through."

Aya stared down into his soup. "You should have let me," he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

"Shoulda let you what?" Yohji asked.

"Die," Aya replied, still, without looking the other man in the eye. "You should have let me die."

Yohji stared at his friend. "No," he stated, his voice flat, matter-of-fact. "No fucking way. What the hell is wrong with you, anyhow? How could I? How could I do that?"

Aya shook his head, "You should have thought like an assassin, not like my friend. It was the best solution. You could have turned my body over to Kritiker, told them I forced you to come with me, and they would have let you go back to Weiss. Omi and Ken would be safe, too, and you guys could get back to your normal lives. Schuldich's only interested in revenge on me, so he would have, probably, given the girl back to Hank. Everyone would have been happy; everything would have been solved. Easy."

Yohji couldn't believe Aya could talk about his own death so calmly. He knew the redhead didn't value his own life; he had known that for some time. But, Yohji also knew, if the shoe had been on the other foot, if he had been the one injured, Aya would have done anything, up to and including giving up his own life, to save him.

He sighed and parroted back Aya's words, "Everyone would be happy; everything would be solved."

"That's right," Aya said.

"Yeah," Yohji snorted, "Except you'd be dead! I, for one, would not be happy with that outcome. How can you think Ken, Omi, and I could just continue on like normal just like nothing had changed without you there? Haven't you figured it out yet? You're part of the family for better or worse. What the hell do I have to do to convince you of that?"

"I **know** that," Aya said, "but, pain passes. And, it would have ensured the most people's safety with the least amount of damage. It would have been the greater good."

"The greater good?" Yohji asked, incredulous. When Aya nodded, he said, "That's that's just bullshit. Pain passes, does it? Is that why you still wear Aya-chan's earring? Is that why you still visit her every day, even though she's been in a coma for years? Because your pain has passed? And, what about when she wakes up? What am I supposed to tell her? That her brother is dead? That I let him die because it was convenient? Because he wasn't worth fighting for?"

"I'm not worth fighting for," Aya muttered.

Yohji rose from his chair and stood over the bed. Placing his hands carefully on either side of Aya's legs, he leaned over, until his face was near the redhead's, and cupped Aya's chin in his hands, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. "You **are** worth fighting for. To me. To Omi. To Ken."

"And, to me," Hank said, from the doorway. He stepped into the room and said, "Sorry. I I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard voices, and I thought, maybe, you were finally awake." He paused for a moment, doubt and hesitation written all over his face, unsure of the welcome he would receive from the man he'd betrayed, and he debated over whether he should say what he really wanted to say. After a brief, internal struggle, he decided to just do it, and damn the consequences. "Don't don't ever think like that, Ran. Life is so precious, and, from what I've gathered, you guys should probably be more aware of that than just about anyone. Don't ever sell yourself so short. You mean a lot to a lot of people, people who worry about you, people who care whether you come home, people who want you to be safe, people who just want for you to be alive and existing in the world, no matter what. That's worth fighting for. You owe it to those people to not ever, ever give up."

He paused and looked at the floor, slightly embarrassed by his emotional outburst, and then said, "Yohji, I I, uh brought your coffee. You left it you know in the galley. I'll just um leave it here." He placed the coffee cup on the chest-of-drawers and hastily backed out of the room without another word.

Yohji and Aya watched his retreat in silence. Once Hank had left, the tall blonde moved from his position on the bed, retrieved the coffee cup, and returned to his previous seat in the chair.

Aya stared down at the bed sheets for a long time. His fingers plucked nervously at the material as he mumbled, a faint blush coloring his face, "Yohji thanks for saving me."

Yohji shrugged and waved his hand through the air, as if dismissing Aya's words. He knew how much that small admission had cost the redhead, how hard it had been for him to say those few words. He didn't want to make such a big deal out of it that it would embarrass Aya into retreating back within himself. "Ah, don't worry about it. You talk big, but, if it had been me, I know you woulda done the same." He laughed when Aya gave him a "don't-be-so-sure" look.

"How long was I sleeping?" Aya asked.

Yohji replied, "Two weeks."

Aya let out a low whistle. "Two weeks?" he asked, staring at Yohji with wide, surprised eyes.

The tall blonde nodded, "More or less." Yohji took another sip of coffee before asking, "So, how the hell are we gonna get out of this mess? We've gotta get Hank's daughter back, you know."

Aya sighed and stared at the sheets, this time contemplating Yohji's question. He carefully brought his legs up to his chest, wincing at the pain so much movement caused, and put arms around them, holding the cup of soup clasped in both hands, in front of his knees. He was wearing one of Yohji's long-sleeve shirts. The blonde had dressed him in it after changing his bandages the day before, and it was loose and baggy on him. The sleeves fell well below his wrists, and he could only see the tips of Aya's fingers peeking out from under the material. He didn't know why he hadn't realized it before now, but Aya had really lost a lot of weight in the past couple of months. Sitting there like that, in the bed, knees tucked under his chin, sheets draped off of him, and wearing a too-big shirt, Aya looked more like a sick child than the deadly assassin he was.

"Yeah," the redhead replied slowly. "I can only see two ways out of this situation, but I don't think you're gonna like them."

"Shoot," Yohji said, leaning forward to listen.

"One, I turn myself over to Kritiker. I'm done for, but they'll probably let you go, and I'm sure they'll rescue the girl."

"You're right," Yohji said. "I don't like that plan."

"Two," Aya continued, "I give myself up to Schuldich. I'm sure he's still looking for me. That attack in the shop it was revenge, pure and simple."

"Revenge?" Yohji asked, "For what?"

"Remember that mission, about eight, maybe even ten months ago, where we broke up that gambling ring that was selling women on the side?" When Yohji nodded, Aya went on, "Remember, we killed everyone --- all the customers, all the employees --- as ordered, and only freed the women who were being sold?"

Again, Yohji nodded.

"One of the employees he was one of the bodyguards I killed he was really young, kind of tall and skinny, with bleached blonde hair cut in a buzz. You remember him?"

Yohji shook his head, and Aya replied, "I'm not surprised. We all killed so many people that night. Anyhow, Schuldich wants revenge for that guy. I'm sure of it. When he attacked me in the shop, he couldn't even control his emotions or his thoughts --- pure rage, like me and Takatori, you know?"

Yohji nodded.

"That guy thoughts and images about that guy kept slamming into my head from him from Schuldich," Aya finished with a shrug.

"So, that guy meant something to Schuldich?" Yohji asked.

Aya shrugged again, and handed the half-empty cup to Yohji, who placed it on the floor between the bed and the chair.

"I guess so," Aya said. "Anyhow," he continued, "I turn myself over to Schuldich. He releases Hank's daughter in the exchange. If everything goes perfectly, we turn Schu over to Kritiker, and they let us off. Even if we can't give him to Kritiker, at least we'll get the girl back, for sure."

"Turn yourself over to Schuldich, huh?" Yohji asked. When Aya nodded, the tall blonde sighed, and, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, said, "Believe it or not, I actually like that plan less than the first one."

****


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Yohji stood in the doorway of the pilot house watching Aya, who was practicing on the deck. The tall blonde leaned against one side of the door frame, a coffee cup clenched in one hand, his free arm wrapped around his stomach, and a small frown on his face. His eyes followed the complicated, twisting, zigzag path Aya traveled across the deck, as he executed one complex practice pattern after another. It was cold, and a strong wind battered the yacht from side-to-side, pushing large whitecaps up against the boat until water came over the sides to flow across the deck. Every few seconds, another loud crash would herald the arrival of more water. Gallons upon gallons washed over the deck, eddying and flowing around Aya, sometimes only ankle-deep, but, at other times, coming as high as his knees before rolling off the other side of the yacht and back into the ocean. The deck was wet and slick, and the footing was treacherous. Yohji was afraid Aya was either going to slip and fall over the railing, or a particularly large wave was going to sweep him off the deck. He took another sip of coffee and frowned again, wishing the redhead would just come back inside. Still, Yohji knew he'd never convince Aya to do that, so he hovered and worried silently in the pilot house door, tensed and prepared to go to the redhead's rescue, should the need arise. It wasn't nearly satisfactory to the tall blonde, but he knew, under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

Yohji mentally clicked off the number of days they'd been aboard the boat. He figured it had to be somewhere around mid January. He was rather surprised, as Christmas seemed to have completely passed them by, unnoticed. Yohji took another sip of coffee and decided Christmas had just gotten lost in amongst everything else that was going on. He wondered if Omi and Ken had done anything to celebrate the holiday --- not that any of them really believed in or made a big deal about Christmas. He hadn't ever thought about it, but he figured they had all come to the inescapable conclusion Christmas had no meaning for them and no place in their lives. After all, the holiday was all about redemption, a commodity that was sadly unavailable to them, considering the type of work they did. It seemed it was truly impossible to wash away some sins.

At any rate, the New Year would be upon them in a matter of weeks. He silently wondered what year it was. When he was a child, his mom had told him he'd have good luck all year whenever the year for his sign came around. Of course, he was beyond believing in such fantasies now. Long ago, he had concluded there were only two certainties in the universe: anything that could go wrong would, and everyone was going to die some sooner than others. He didn't believe in luck any more --- unless it was bad. Besides, he couldn't even remember what sign he was. Still, as he watched Aya twist and turn his way across the deck and then back again, he silently wished this year belonged to the redhead's sign. That guy needed all the help he could get you know, just in case good luck really did exist.

Aya had only felt strong enough to get out of bed for the past three or four days. Before that, while he was still bedridden, he and Yohji had surreptitiously cruised various Internet chat rooms and posting boards, in the hopes of finding a lead on Schuldich and Hank's daughter. At first, Yohji had been nervous about taking to the 'Net. They hadn't had any trouble with Kritiker after the organization's first, failed attempt at retiring Aya. Yohji thought he should have been relieved about that, but, oddly enough, he wasn't. Instead of making him feel safer and more relaxed, Kritiker's conspicuous absence made him more edgy and nervous. It was just too easy. Kritiker was huge; it was everywhere, and it should have been harder for them to hide. It should have been harder for them to move about the city without being detected, especially considering that neither of them had done anything to really change their appearance. Other than the fact Aya's hair had grown out to mid-back length during his recovery and he had decided not to cut it, they hadn't even gone to the trouble of changing the way they wore their hair. Still, they had moved around freely, without being recognized or spotted by the many undercover Kritiker agents he knew had to be combing the city for them. In Yohji's book, it was a case of something being too good to believe, and it made him suspicious and jumpy. Besides, he had that rule: anything that could go wrong would, and, falling back on that universal truth, he couldn't help wondering when their run of blissfully good luck would end. So, when Aya had suggested they start cruising the Internet to supplement their search for the German, Yohji had protested, thinking it would alert Kritiker to their presence. Aya had only sighed and shaken his head in a sad, little gesture, replying:_ "Don't you have any faith in me, Yohji?"_

Yohji still remembered how he hadn't really had any response to Aya's question. It had surprised him, the sad, melancholy way in which Aya had said it --- almost like a joke, but, then again, not quite joking. It wasn't a case of not having faith. He trusted and believed in Aya; otherwise, he would never have placed his life in the redhead's hands so many times. But, he was scared for Aya, even though he hadn't known how to say it. Instead, he had done the next-best thing. He had acquired a laptop from Smitty so they could search the Internet from the yacht, which was already rigged up with the appropriate connections.

All this computer crap was mumbo-jumbo to Yohji. He had always thought of himself as an "action guy", whereas people like Omi --- people who were a lot smarter than him --- were the "background guys", the "planning guys", the "intel. guys" whatever you wanted to call them. He had always subconsciously thought of Aya as an "action guy", too. Who knew why; maybe it was because of the strange connection he felt to the quiet man, which led him to believe they were more alike than it seemed on the surface. But, after watching Aya for a few minutes, Yohji had had to concede that, either the redhead was also an "intel guy", or Omi had taught him very well. Aya moved through one chat room and posting board after another, leaving messages that would mean nothing to the casual observer, but that Schuldich would be certain to notice, while deftly taking steps to conceal his presence and location.

So far, they hadn't gotten any hits on their postings. They had been checking the classified ads in the papers on a daily basis, too. In the past, Schwarz had sent challenges to them that way, and, for whatever reason, the classifieds were Brad Crawford's favorite method for communicating with his operatives. Even though it appeared Schuldich was on this rampage alone, it had seemed likely that the German might fall back on familiar means of communication. At any rate, none of them had considered checking the classifieds to be a waste of time. So far, they hadn't had any luck in that area, either, so, for now, all they could do was wait.

But, sitting, waiting, and doing nothing had begun to take its toll on all of them. Hank had been hit the hardest, which was only natural, since his daughter was missing. She had been gone for at least a month now, with no sign of her location and no new communication from her kidnapper. The normally-gregarious Texan had become more and more withdrawn. He spent hours alone in the galley or pilot house, and, when he was with Yohji or Aya, he barely made conversation. Yohji knew the man hadn't been sleeping well, either. He hadn't noticed it while Aya was down, because his attention had been so preoccupied with the redhead's needs, but, now that Aya was better, he had noticed Hank's pale, ashy-looking skin, the grayish pallor, and the huge, dark circles under his eyes. Worse yet, the Texan had started drinking again. He'd been sober ever since taking the job with them at the flower shop, but, within the past couple of days, Yohji had found him out on deck on more than one occasion, drunk off his ass. He hadn't told Aya, thinking that the redhead hadn't noticed and not wanting to worry him unduly. But, last night, Aya had approached him and said, in that soft, gentle way of his, that he thought Hank was in trouble. When Yohji had asked for additional details, Aya had told him he knew Hank was drinking. It seemed Yohji hadn't been the only one who had had the privilege of dragging the drunken Texan off the yacht's deck. They had both made a point of reassuring their companion, on an almost daily basis, that they weren't giving up, and that they would get his daughter back, unharmed. Hank always smiled his thanks and said he believed them and trusted them, but, still, Yohji didn't think the reassurances did much good. It was his daughter, after all; how could the man not worry?

But, at the moment, Hank wasn't his only problem. The waiting around and helpless feeling that accompanied it were starting to get to Aya, too. The redhead was struggling to maintain the confident, slightly-icy demeanor he always employed in dealing with all things Weiss, and, on the surface, he seemed calm, cool, collected, and totally in-control. But, Yohji knew Aya a lot better than that. He could tell the attitude was just a façade. Inside, Aya was terrified they wouldn't be able to get the little girl back, but the redhead was determined not to let it show in front of Hank. Not only that, but, in that special, completely self-destructive way he had of dealing with such things, Aya had drawn all of the guilt over Keiko's abduction, their current situation with Kritiker, and Schuldich's vendetta around himself like a shroud. Yohji could tell the redhead was, as always, determined to shoulder everyone's guilt, and it seemed to be eating away at him, little by little. Yohji figured that was what had driven him up onto the deck with his sword, in the first place.

He didn't have any idea how long Aya had been out here. He had awakened early, and found the redhead's cabin empty, except for Bubba. Aya must have locked the dog in there to keep him off of the deck, and Bubba was not at all happy about it. After barely managing to shove the whining, drooling animal back into Aya's cabin, followed by a quick search of the yacht, he had located Aya here, silhouetted against the pinkish-gray, early morning sky, working through practice routine after practice routine against a backdrop of spraying salt water. Normally, the redhead was incredibly perceptive, but Aya hadn't noticed Yohji's presence yet. The blonde tried not to let it worry him, and he rationalized Aya's lapse by attributing it to several factors: Aya had yet to recover from his injuries, he was completely lost in the rhythm and flow of his sword work, and the waves crashing against the yacht created an almost-deafening roar, which blocked any outside noise. From the looks of him, the tall blonde figured Aya must have been out here for a while, perhaps even a good part of the night.

Even from this distance and in the dim half-light of early morning, Yohji could see that Aya's hair was dark and slick from sweat and ocean spray. For the most part, it was plastered to his head, although he wore it loose, and the ends whipped around him as he twisted and turned, following behind the flow of his body and sword. He had, apparently, swept his bangs out of the way with his hand at some point during his work out. They were slicked back in a rather messy tangle, away from his face. Although it was cold, Aya wore only a pair of Yohji's dark-colored sweat pants, which were way too baggy on him and hung loosely at his hips, and his feet were bare. With each movement, each turn, each ripple of his muscles, the sunlight glinted off the sweat and salt water coating his skin. It almost looked like he glowed with a strange, unearthly sheen.

Although they occasionally sparred together, wire against blade, Yohji had rarely seen Aya practice. The redhead was a skilled swordsman, and, despite their dangerous profession, he was still alive --- both indicators of a lot of practice time --- but, Aya hated being watched. He normally snuck off in the early morning hours to practice in solitude. On a few occasions, though, the tall blonde had surreptitiously followed Aya to the park, where he had watched, unnoticed, as the swordsman threw his mind and body into hours of rigorous training. Then, as now, Yohji had been transfixed by the redhead's graceful movements and skill with the sword, which seemed like an extension of his body. The blade flashed through the light, almost with a life of its own, but, always, inextricably, connected with Aya, and the swordsman moved quickly and easily through one practice routine after another, seemingly oblivious to the deadly weapon he held. As he whirled from one movement to another, twisting, first to the right, then to the left, twirling the blade around his head, then, around his shoulders, and then, with only a slight shift in weight from one foot to the other, around his lower body, the weapon ceased being an object of death. Instead, it was a ribbon of light flashing around Aya. It was graceful and beautiful --- a delicately balanced, deadly dance between man and blade, and, in that ruthless beauty, Yohji found it easy to forget how Aya's sword cut through people so viciously and easily, severing heads and body parts, ending lives almost effortlessly. When he saw the redhead like this, Yohji found he could almost believe Aya was from some other world --- he was too graceful, too deadly-beautiful, to be human. Not that he believed in such things, but, if he had, Yohji would have thought the redhead looked like an angel --- a glittering, graceful, ruthless messenger from some great beyond. The only things spoiling the perfection of the scene were the wounds criss-crossing Aya's back. They were still red and irritated from the recent infection, and some of them had torn open during his practice session, sending tiny rivulets of red running down his back, where they mixed with the sweat and were washed away by the salt spray. Also, Aya's steps, although still graceful, were halting and jerky, as opposed to the smooth, flowing movements he would normally have employed, probably due to the pain from his most recent injuries.

The sound of Bubba's dog tags clinking together heralded Hank's approach. The Texan stomped heavily up the stairs leading from the galley and cabins into the pilot house, Bubba trotting happily at his heels.

"Damn," Hank whispered, as he approached Yohji from behind.

Yohji turned to face Hank, acknowledging the Texan's presence and greeting him with a slight nod. He bent to scratch behind Bubba's ears, mumbling, "So, you finally get let out?" He returned to his previous spot in the doorway, moving aside slightly, so that there was enough room for Hank to join him.

"Oh, yeah," Hank replied as he moved forward to join Yohji, "I uh heard him whining inside, so I took him with me you know, on the supply run. Hope that was OK."

Yohji nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. I think Aya just didn't want him out on the deck while he was practicing."

Hank moved into the doorway, carefully placing his body so that he blocked Bubba, who was whining and pushing against his legs, from running out onto the deck. The Texan leaned on the opposite side of the door frame, clutching his own cup of coffee in one hand, and said, softly, "I I never knew he could do that."

Yohji simply shrugged in response.

The two men stood in silence, watching as Aya twisted and whirled through yet another routine, traveling from one side of the deck to the other, in a complicated pattern of swirls, twists, and turns. He lunged, twirled, and cut the air with a precision that was beautiful in both its grace and its deadliness. Wrapped in the mist and spray from the ocean, it was as if his feet never touched the deck.

"He looks like an angel," Hank muttered, almost under his breath.

Yohji snorted, "Yeah angel of death." He couldn't quite keep the sarcastic note out of his voice, but he added, in a softer tone, "He really is something to watch, isn't he? He's probably one of the best in Japan, not that anyone will ever know. Just to look at him, you'd never guess, huh?"

Hank nodded his agreement. "How long you think he's been out there?" he asked, around a mouthful of coffee.

Yohji shrugged, "Found him here when I woke up. From the looks of it, maybe the whole damn night. Who the hell knows?"

"He's bleeding," Hank commented, as he noticed, for the first time, that Aya had torn open several of the wounds on his back, as well as the stitches on his side from the recent gunshot wound. Whenever the water receded enough, he could see red spatters and droplets all across the boat's deck, clearly marking Aya's various paths.

"Yeah," Yohji replied, draining the last of his coffee.

"Looks like a lot," Hank said, never taking his eyes off of Aya, who was still unaware of their presence.

"Yeah," Yohji said again, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Don't you think he should come in?" Hank asked, turning an incredulous, questioning stare toward Yohji. "I mean what are you gonna do about it?"

Bubba whined, apparently seconding Hank's opinion.

Yohji shrugged and said, with a tired sigh, "Fish him out of the ocean if he falls in." In response to Hank's continued stare, Yohji explained, "He won't come in until he's totally exhausted, unable to move. I've seen him like this before. There's nothing I can do, except wait for that to happen and hope he doesn't fall overboard."

"But, why?" Hank asked.

Yohji shrugged and replied, "Waiting not being able to do anything anger guilt. He's convinced himself this whole thing is his fault."

As the blonde spoke, it looked like Aya had started to reach his limit. Yohji tensed and moved slightly away from the door frame as Aya slipped to one knee, finally on the verge of exhaustion. The redhead caught himself, though, and struggled back into a standing position, using the sword, which had embedded in the wood of the deck, as a crutch. After pausing for a couple of seconds --- panting, slumped over, hands on knees, and head hanging --- he started the last, most complicated, routine again. Yohji sighed in frustration and sank back into his waiting position, still tensed to move at a second's notice, if necessary.

"Anyhow," Yohji continued, "when he's like this there's no talking to him." He paused for a moment before muttering, "Not that you can ever really tell him anything."

"But he's gonna hurt himself," Hank said, concern edging into his voice.

"He already has," Yohji replied, grimly. "Some of those cuts are new." He glanced over at Hank for a brief moment, before turning his attention back to Aya. "You get the supplies OK?"

"Uh yeah," Hank replied. "I um I got the papers, too. I left them in the galley."

Yohji nodded.

Aya slipped twice more, finally falling to his hands and knees, and the sword clattered to the deck, just out of easy reach. Aya managed to move to a sitting position, but he didn't reach for the sword right away. It seemed to be all he could do just to hold himself fairly upright, and he sat on the bloody, cold, wet, deck, shoulders slumped forward, breathing heavily.

"Well," Yohji commented, setting his empty coffee cup on the nearest flat surface, "looks like he's finally done."

Yohji stood up and leaned away from the side of the door frame on which he'd been resting, apparently intending to move out onto the deck to retrieve Aya. Before the tall blonde could move forward, a freakishly huge wave slammed against the side of the yacht. It was like a wall of water moving toward them. It towered over the boat for a moment that seemed frozen in time, dwarfing the yacht and covering it in shadow, until, finally, the wave broke and tumbled down with the force of a falling building. Water that was at least waist-high washed over the boat and splashed forcefully against Aya's body. The weight and force of it drove him to the deck, and the wave's sweep caught the sword and sent it spinning toward the deck's edge. Aya knew he had to stay on his feet in order to stay alive, and, despite his exhaustion, he struggled to stand. For a fraction of a second, he glanced from the sword, which was quickly tumbling its way toward the ocean's blue oblivion, to the pilot house, which offered him sanctuary and safety from the water that seemed intent on tossing him overboard, along with his sword. He could only reach one. Then, just like that, years of discipline and training won out, and he leapt through the crashing wave, riding it toward the deck's edge in an attempt to rescue the sword before the water dragged it overboard.

"Fuck," Yohji hissed, instantly dashing forward. "Hank, hang onto that damn dog."

Bubba had already started struggling to get to Aya. Hank quickly grabbed his collar, and barely managed to keep the dog from flying through the door by throwing all of his weight against the animal. He ended up sitting on the floor as Yohji pushed past him to get out onto the deck. All he could do was hang on for dear life and pray he was strong enough to hold onto Bubba, who had become a mass of frantic, frenzied energy. The dog's nails made scrabbling sounds as he dug gouges into the floor during his struggle for freedom, and he alternated between panicked whining, angry snarling, and frenzied barking. Within moments, Hank and everything within arm's reach in the pilot house was liberally coated with dog slobber, and Hank silently hoped Bubba wouldn't decide to turn around and attack him in a bid for freedom.

As Yohji moved carefully out into the water, he spotted a towel lying close to the pilot house wall. Aya had probably brought it out here with him, to use after he finished his workout, and, by some miracle, it hadn't been caught in the huge wave. The blonde felt almost stupidly grateful for this small bit of good luck --- the first in what seemed like a very long time. He picked up the towel as he passed it, immediately tearing it into two halves, which he wound around his hands as he waded further out into the waist-high deluge pounding the deck.

The tall blonde positioned himself in the wave's shallowest part, simultaneously unleashing a wire from his watch. The thin metal seemed to sing as it sliced through air and then water, and Yohji held his breath, silently praying, to anyone or anything that might listen, for the weapon to fly straight and true. This was one time when he couldn't afford to miss; he wouldn't get another chance.

Aya had managed to grab his sword, but he got caught in the wave's backwash. He was too exhausted to swim free, and the water's forward momentum was already tumbling him toward the deck's edge. The wire cut straight through the water, like a hot knife through butter. It reached Aya and twined around his arm just as the water's force finally swept him over the edge and toward the silent, icy deep. Aya was lost from view within the crashing, tumbling wave, and Yohji wasn't sure whether or not his aim had been true. He immediately felt the wire pull taut, and he sent up another silent prayer --- this time asking to have caught his teammate and not the deck railing. The tall blonde immediately retreated back a few steps, into the shadow of the pilot house, in search of more solid footing and some shelter from the water that continued to crash and tumble over the boat, mercilessly pounding everything in its path. Yohji had hoped to drag Aya toward him and away from the edge of the deck, but the wave was like a living beast, and it refused to relinquish its prey so easily. After briefly struggling against its force, Yohji realized all he could do was hang on for the precious few seconds it would take for the wave to finish breaking and wash completely over the boat.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, almost too quickly for Hank to even follow the action with his eyes. After the huge wave broke, the wind subsided, and the water's roar gave way to an almost eerie silence, which was punctuated only by the sound of smaller whitecaps slapping against the sides of the yacht and water running off of the deck in little streams. The wave's force had swept everything except Aya off the deck. Luckily, Yohji's aim had been accurate, despite the poor visibility, and the redhead was sitting about halfway between the middle of the deck and its edge. He didn't seem too much the worse for wear. The wire had gone loose almost immediately, once the water had receded, but it was still wrapped around Aya's arm. It had inflicted a deep cut, and, although the wound wasn't bleeding yet, Yohji knew it would turn into a fairly good-sized gash when he removed the wire. Aya didn't try to free himself of Yohji's weapon. Instead, he sat perfectly still for several minutes, hunched over and panting heavily, as if he needed all his energy just to breathe, until he started coughing up some of the sea water he had swallowed. After another few minutes, he shook the water out of his hair, and ran a shaking hand through the soaked, red mass, slicking it back from his face.

Yohji hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath all this time, but, when Aya started moving around, indicating he wasn't injured, the tall blonde let it out in one long, heartfelt sigh of relief. He looked over his shoulder at Hank, and gave the Texan a relieved, crooked grin, as he commented, "Damn. My first deep-sea fishing experience, and look what I caught!"

Hank couldn't believe Yohji could joke at a time like this, after what they had just gone through. He had thought Ran was a goner, for sure, and he'd been too petrified to do anything more than hang on to the stupid dog. But, the tall blonde's sunglasses had partially come off, hanging from just one ear so that they were slightly askew on his face, and he wore a slightly miffed, yet slightly surprised, expression. He looked so funny that Hank found he was unable to suppress his laughter. The blonde shrugged and gave Hank another crooked grin before he straightened his sunglasses and walked out across the deck.

Yohji crossed the deck in a few long strides, and squatted on his heels next to Aya, who was doubled-over, still coughing and spitting up water. He gently rubbed the younger man's back, careful to avoid the re-opened, bleeding wounds, and asked, "You OK?"

Aya managed to stop coughing and retching long enough to glare at him. He shrugged away from Yohji's hand with a hissed, "Leave me the fuck alone."

Yohji sighed, rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Maybe I should throw you back."

"Come on," he said, as, with another sigh, he pulled Aya to his feet and shoved him roughly toward the pilot house. "Get down to the galley so I can sew those cuts up again," he snapped.

Aya didn't protest. On shaking legs, he stumbled silently toward the pilot house, and then, down the stairs leading to the galley.

***************************************************

About twenty minutes later, Hank, Yohji, Aya, and Bubba had all congregated in the small galley. As usual, the big dog had wedged himself into the small space under the table, where he rested his head on Aya's feet. Occasionally, he would raise his head slightly with a whine, so that he could look adoringly at his favorite human companion. Aya sat on one of the attached benches, his back to the door, and Yohji stood behind him, patiently sewing up the cuts on his back, some of which had opened during his practice session, some that had opened during the struggle against the wave, and some that were newly inflicted by Aya's overzealous sword work. Hank sat across from them and watched, mystified by Yohji's quick, deft hand motions.

"What is it?" Yohji asked, when he looked up from his work to find Hank staring at him.

"Um nothing," Hank replied. He stared down in embarrassment at his hands, which he had placed, palms down, flat against the table in front of him. "It's just um, well, I can't figure you guys out, exactly. The way Ran handles that sword, and you, with that wire, and, now well, you're really good at that," he said, nodding his head toward Yohji to indicate the blonde's current activity.

"Hmmm," Yohji muttered, his face screwed into an expression of deep concentration as he pulled one set of stitches into a tiny knot. He had placed all the necessary medical supplies on the table in front of Aya, and he leaned around the redhead's shoulder to survey them.

"Hand me that one," he said after a moment, using his scissors to point to a long, slightly curved needle. "And, more sutures, too," he added.

Aya's hand paused over the needle Yohji had indicated. Finally, he sighed, frowning, "I I don't like that one."

Yohji rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, a "why the hell me" expression clearly written in them, barely visible over the rims of his sunglasses. He slapped Aya lightly on the back of the head, eliciting a scowl from the younger man, and said, "What the hell does it matter? It's not like you're gonna feel it, anyhow unless you dawdle and let the anesthetic wear off. I still have quite a few to go. Just hand me the damn needle."

Aya's eyes narrowed in irritation, and he muttered, in a stubborn tone, "No. That one it pulls too much. It feels icky. Use another one."

"Look," Yohji sighed irritably, "who the hell is driving this bus, anyhow? None of the others will close these next few up as well they're too big because you keep pulling the damn stitches out. As it is, you're lucky to get away with just a few scars **if** they don't get infected again. If you don't like the way I'm doing this, then I'll walk away right now, and you can sew them up yourself."

Aya huffed angrily, but he signaled his defeat by silently handing Yohji the requested needle. The tall blonde took the offered instrument without a word, but he gave Hank an eyebrows-raised look of triumph and a crooked grin over the top of Aya's head. Hank ducked behind his hand to hide his smile when Aya gave him a narrow-eyed glare that seemed to promise a slow, painful death. The Texan didn't want to laugh at his friend's predicament, but he couldn't help it. For some reason, it just struck him as funny. These two bickered constantly, and, when they started in on one of these routines, they sounded like a couple of schoolgirls squabbling over one thing or another. Hank had seen these men in action, though. He still didn't know exactly who or what they were, but he knew enough to realize such a description couldn't be further from the truth. 

Yohji cleared his throat, bringing Hank's attention back to the two men across from him. "Sutures, please," he commanded, slightly nudging the back of Aya's head with his elbow and holding one hand, palm upward, around the redhead's shoulder and out in front of his face.

Aya frowned again, but silently dropped the requested item onto Yohji's open palm.

As the tall blonde started threading the suture through the needle, squinting in order to accomplish his task without removing his sunglasses, he muttered under his breath, "Feels icky. What the fuck does that mean? Just when I start to have a little respect for you, you come up with something like that. "Feels icky". Geez. You wouldn't even have to worry about it if you'd stayed inside and rested like I told you to. What the hell were you doing out there, anyhow, playing around with that damn sword? And, what the hell were you thinking --- jumping after it like that? You should have just let it get washed over. You could get another one, but what're we supposed to do to keep you from drowning? Throw ourselves overboard after you?" He sighed softly, and finished, in a barely audible tone, "Idiot."

Now it was Aya's turn to roll his eyes toward the ceiling. "You sound like an old woman," he said, with a sneer and a short, little laugh.

"Oh, yeah?" Yohji replied, "Well, you whine like a little girl "feels icky". What kind of idiot stunt was that with the sword?" He paused, and then added, in a softer voice, "You scared me."

"I know," Aya replied. His voice was soft, barely audible, yet, still, it was loud enough to carry to both of the men in the room with him. "I sorry. It it's important to me," he mumbled, a faint blush traveling across his face.

Yohji paused for a moment, his hands hovering in mid-stitch. He stared at the back of Aya's head, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard the swordsman say. Finally, he shrugged, and, in almost the same tone of voice Aya had used, said, "I know," before continuing his work.

After a few more stitches, Yohji looked back toward Hank and said, in an attempt to pick up the earlier conversation, which had been interrupted by his bickering with Aya, "You were saying?"

"Oh, uh ," Hank stammered, "Well, it's uh it's just that you're really good at that. It's surprising you know, for a **florist**." He emphasized the word "florist" to let his two companions know that he had at least figured out what they **didn't** do for a living.

"Yeah, well, I get a lot of practice," Yohji replied, in a flippant tone of voice, as he tried to avoid Hank's implied question, "You know sewing up certain people who seem to constantly get into trouble."

"We're not florists," Aya said in a flat voice. He looked Hank directly in the eye, without blinking or wavering. The Texan could see emotion there, but couldn't read exactly what it was.

"Aya," Yohji warned softly.

"No," Aya replied, still staring directly into Hank's eyes. "He's in this, too. He deserves to know the truth."

Yohji didn't reply, but he paused briefly in his work to stare at Hank for a moment over the top of Aya's head. Shrugging, the blonde resumed stitching.

"What what are you?" Hank asked, hesitantly. He had been wondering about these guys for a while, but, now, when it seemed he would finally get the answers he was searching for, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

Aya sighed and looked down at the table, unable to meet Hank's eyes any longer. "We we're common murderers. Nothing else," he said, softly, unable to hide the note of shame and regret that crept into his voice. "We work for an organization called Kritiker, and we kill people for them."

Hank stared, open-mouthed, at his two companions. He had known there was something about these guys, but this he just couldn't believe it. Yohji, who was generous, and always had a joke or a smile to lighten the mood; Ran, who was quiet and shy, who always seemed angry, but was really gentle; Ken, who was so good at sports and loved kids; Omi, who was so smart and seemed to have such a bright future. All of them were killers? He tried to picture it, but he couldn't. He just couldn't believe it. His mind told him it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true. The men he'd come to know and care about over the past few months just couldn't be cold-blooded killers; he just knew they wouldn't be able to take another person's life. They were too good for that.

Suddenly, his mind dredged up the memory of that rainy night, so many months ago, when he had first met Yohji in that dark alley. He could still see the cold hatred that had been in the tall blonde's eyes as he'd held the knife to his throat and whispered,_ "Now, why don't you tell me why I shouldn't just cut your throat right here? But, talk fast, because I hate being out in the rain, and I'm already in a bad mood."_ Once that memory hit him, Hank knew he wouldn't be able to deny it any longer. It was true; these guys were killers.

Aya had been watching Hank carefully from under the long bangs that hid his eyes from view. Once he saw the signs of acceptance cross the dark-haired man's face, he took a deep breath and continued with the rest of his story, "The man who took your daughter his name is Schuldich. He works for an assassin group called Schwarz. They work for some of the people we hunt down for Kritiker. He took your daughter because of me. He wants revenge for something I did, and he took Keiko to force you into giving him information so that he could get to me. So this all the trouble you've suffered it's my fault."

Hank stared at Aya, not sure how he should respond. The redhead had always been his friend, had never seemed cold, distant, or untouchable to him, but, now, Hank suddenly felt a gap widen between them. He realized it was caused by Aya pulling his emotions and humanity back within himself, and he wondered if this was what it was like all the time for the three men who lived with him, who cared for the redhead, and, yet, never got to truly befriend him. Hank felt like Aya needed something from him, some kind of contact, as a reassurance he wasn't alone in the world. Suddenly, the man sitting in front of him, who always seemed so strong and capable, appeared to be nothing more than a fragile, vulnerable child.

Before he realized what he was doing, Hank reached across the table, placing his hand on top of Aya's, and said, "That's that's not true, Ran. I I didn't have to do what I did. I could have come to you to any of you for help, but I chose to try to handle things on my own. None of this trouble is your fault, at least as far as I'm concerned. I made the wrong decisions the wrong choices. No one's responsible for that except me. And, it almost got you killed! I I wouldn't have ever wanted that. I owe you so much. You're the reason I was able to put my life back together able to hope that, one day, I could be the kind of father my Keiko needed. I I never thought that guy" Hank's voice trailed off, choked by emotion.

Much to Hank's surprise, Aya didn't draw away from the physical contact. The redhead finally looked up, into Hank's eyes, and gently squeezed his hand as he said, "It's all right. How could you know?"

There was a long pause, and the silence seemed to become heavy and uncomfortable, until Yohji finally broke it by prodding Aya in the back of the head and ordering, "Tell him the rest."

"There isn't anything else," Aya said. His tone was a warning for the blonde to stay silent.

"Yes, there is," Yohji started.

Aya cut him off with a hissed warning, "Yohji!"

"No!" Yohji snapped. He yanked on one of the stitches to give emphasis to his words, causing Aya to jump slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Look. You're the one who said he deserves to know. If you're not gonna tell him the whole story, I am."

He paused, to give Aya a chance to continue, but, when he was met with nothing more than stony silence from his companion, he took a breath, and, never looking away from his suturing, said, "The organization we work for well, used to work for is hunting us. They're after Aya, really, but I kind of invited myself along for the ride. This guy never could get himself out of trouble, anyhow." He smiled when he heard Aya chuckle softly in response to his little joke, and then continued, "They decided to retire him from service, and well, let's just say that no one really ever "retires" from what we do. You're either with Kritiker, or you're against them and heaven help you if it's the latter." He looked up at Hank and gave the Texan a devilish grin, "So that's why we're all here livin' large and in charge on this boat."

Hank couldn't help but laugh softly at Yohji's little joke. The blonde definitely had a way of defusing a tense situation. He was glad he finally knew the truth about them. Knowing what they truly did for a living didn't change the way he felt. They were still his friends.

Aya's quiet voice broke into Hank's thoughts, "We **will** get Keiko back."

Hank smiled in response, although it was a worried, tense expression. "I know." He drummed his fingers on top of the table for a few moments. "Oh!" he exclaimed, just remembering the papers he'd brought back from town, "The papers! I almost forgot." He slid them across the table toward Aya, "Here."

Aya leaned forward to grab the newspapers, completely forgetting Yohji was still stitching up the cuts on his back.

"Hey!" the blonde yelped, as he jerked forward in an effort to keep up with Aya's movement. "Be still! I'm working here, OK?"

Aya sneered, "You're taking too long."

"Rude!" Yohji exclaimed in a tone of mock hurt, "You can't rush perfection, my friend."

Aya just shook his head and opened the newspaper at the top of the stack Hank had pushed toward him. He flipped directly to the classified ads, completely ignoring Yohji's grumbling, and began to read in silence. Yohji finished making his last knot, sighing in relief that the job was finally almost done.

"OK," he said, sitting down on the bench next to Aya. "All done, except for that," he nodded toward the swordsman's arm, which had been cut earlier by the wire.

Yohji leaned forward slightly and began to carefully unwind the bandage from around Aya's arm, peering closely at it as he worked. He had been right about the wire cut. Once the danger of Aya being swept overboard had passed, Yohji had immediately removed the wire, which had turned the rather small cut into a series of three large, parallel, gaping tears in the redhead's upper arm. While the cut had barely bled when it was initially made, once he had removed the wire, it had bled profusely. The bandage wrapped around Aya's arm was stained dark red, and it was the second one Yohji had applied since they had come inside.

The blonde squinted at the wound, poking it gently, and frowned. "This one looks pretty bad," he muttered, feeling vaguely guilty at the thought that he had inflicted it. "Looks like the bleeding's stopped mostly. I thought leaving it till last so that the bleeding could stop was the best choice, but maybe I should have done it first," he said, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Aya looked up from his newspaper long enough to flick his eyes briefly over Yohji's face. "It's OK. It'll be OK," he said softly, giving the blonde one of his rare, shy smiles.

Yohji didn't know why, but Aya's words, as always, made him feel better. He nodded at his friend in response, and, as Aya ducked his head down once again, to resume reading the paper, he carefully administered a local anesthetic and began to sew the wound closed.

****************************************************************

"Find anything?" Yohji asked, as he walked back into the galley.

Aya, who was still sitting at the table, reading through the classified ads in the stack of newspapers, looked up briefly and shook his head in response to Yohji's question.

Yohji sighed and watched Aya for a couple of moments. He had finished sewing up the redhead's wounds about thirty minutes ago, and, after bandaging Aya's injuries and cleaning up their medical supplies, he had retreated to his cabin. He had hoped Aya would do likewise, but he realized now he shouldn't have expected anything less than the normal, stubborn, "Aya" behavior he was used to seeing from the swordsman.

"Here," he said, sitting down at the table across from Aya. He held out a sweatshirt as he said, "At least put this on. You've gotta be freezing."

Aya looked at him for a moment, almost as if he had just realized Yohji was there, before taking the sweatshirt. He shrugged into it slowly, wincing as his new stitches pulled painfully when he tugged the shirt over his head.

"Thanks," he said, turning his attention back to the paper almost immediately, "I was sorta cold."

"Stubborn," Yohji said, reaching out to take one of the papers off of Aya's stack. "Let me help you look."

Just as he opened his paper to the classifieds, Aya said, "Never mind. I think I just found it."

He handed Yohji the newspaper he'd just been reading, pointing to an ad with his index finger. Yohji followed Aya's hand with his eyes and saw the following:

_Lost: Red Abyssinian kitten. 126 S. Nekko St. Ask for "Keiko"._

Yohji looked up to meet Aya's steady gaze. "Looks like this is it," he agreed, with a grim smile.

****


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

The address in the classifieds led them to a coffee shop called "Kitty's Cup". Immediately after finding the ad, Aya and Yohji did a brief canvass of the shop and its surrounding neighborhood, hoping they would get lucky and find some clue that would lead them to where Schuldich was keeping Hank's daughter. Unfortunately, "Kitty's Cup" was located in a trendy, busy business district near downtown, which meant there weren't any likely hiding places within a several mile radius of the restaurant. They had known it was unlikely, but, all the same, they had hoped the desire for revenge might have driven Schuldich into being sloppy. Unfortunately, the German's lust for revenge and crazed anger hadn't caused him to miss a step, and, in this, as in all other things, Schuldich was proving to be a smart, shrewd, formidable foe. They had quickly concluded that Schuldich, clever as always, had chosen a truly neutral meeting location, and, although they had no proof, Aya and Yohji both suspected it was miles away from where he had hidden his prize. The crazy German might have been holding Keiko on the city's outskirts, or, even, in another town.

When they failed to turn up any leads regarding Keiko's whereabouts during their investigation, Aya and Yohji decided they had no choice but to proceed with their alternate plan. Aya would trade himself for the girl's release. Yohji hated the plan. He had been dead-set against it from the beginning, but he was enough of a realist to know they had run out of options. They didn't have any information or any credible leads, and they didn't even have a starting point for their search for Schuldich's location. They were on the run from Kritiker, and, other than a few loyal underworld contacts and Aya's extremely limited hacking abilities, they didn't have access to any of the resources they normally used in their work. 

Once it became obvious that they had run head-first into a dead end, Aya had quickly accepted the fact that they didn't have any other choice in the matter. He desperately wanted to get Keiko back, and he already felt as if the girl had been missing for an eternity. But, even more than wanting to retrieve Hank's daughter, Aya's desire to end this whole ordeal drove him to the inevitable conclusion he would have to turn himself over to Schuldich. He was tired of this little game, tired of running from Kritiker, tired of all the waiting and this plan, as undesirable as it was, offered the attraction of bringing everything to a screeching halt --- even if it wasn't on terms of his choosing. Once he had come to that conclusion, Aya had been strangely at peace with his decision, almost as if he had acquiesced in whatever fate had in store for him.

Yohji hadn't been able to accept Aya's decision quite so easily. It had led to more than one fight, during which he would loudly voice his opinion that Aya was only running off on another self-destructive, fatalistic jaunt into hell. Of course, he hadn't been able to get Aya to listen --- doing that was like drawing blood from a stone. He still thought Aya was rushing into the beast's jaws, anxious to throw his life away, and that bothered him. But, for all his thinking about it, he hadn't been able to come up with any better alternatives, and he did agree with Aya on one point: they were running out of time. Even though they might not officially be Weiss at the moment, Yohji still thought of Aya as the leader of their little party, and Yohji had promised himself he would see this thing through to the end, no matter what happened. He felt it was the least he could do for Aya, who, despite his fatalistic tendencies, was still his friend. So, in the end, Yohji had given in and agreed to go along with the plan.

When they were ready, they placed a responding ad in the classified section of the paper in which they had located Schuldich's message:

_Found: Red Abyssinian kitten. 126 S. Nekko St. Jan. 24 for details. Ask for Keiko._

_****************************************************_

On the day of the meeting, Aya arrived at "Kitty's Cup" at 10 A.M., shortly after the shop opened for the day. He stood in the doorway, briefly scanning the interior with uneasy, hate-filled eyes --- the eyes of a hunter out on the prowl. There weren't many people there --- mostly stragglers who didn't have to be at work until later in the day, and a few college-age looking kids who sat at tables near the door, sipping coffee and reading textbooks.

There was no sign of Schuldich. Aya frowned as he relaxed slightly and noticed the coffee shop's décor. There were cats everywhere --- cats playing with yarn, cats jumping on and off shelves, cats sitting, and cats chasing butterflies were stenciled on the walls, dotting the shop's interior. The table tops were decoupaged with pictures of cats taken from magazines and books, and there were more cat designs stenciled onto the ivory-colored, canvas upholstery covering the chairs and booths. A display behind the counter heralded cat-themed products --- coffee cups, plates, bowls, and t-shirts --- for sale. The employees wore t-shirts with a stylized picture of a black cat, which looked like a child's drawing, on the front and "Kitty's Cup" emblazoned across the back in bold, pink letters, and all of the menu items had cutesy, cat-themed names.

Aya sighed in irritation, shaking his head and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. He had been sick of Weiss' cat-oriented theme after about his first day on the team, and he had always thought the whole cat thing was trite, ridiculous, and a little embarrassing. Who the hell named assassins after cats, anyhow? It was almost like destining Weiss to be laughed at by all the other assassin groups, as if they were the "nerdy" kids in school, with nothing more to look forward to than a lifetime of being beaten up in the hall and "pantsed" in gym class. How could Kritiker expect anyone to take them seriously when they were named after cats --- not ferocious, stalking, man-eating jungle cats, even, which, although still not the best situation, might have been livable. No --- they had to be codenamed after cuddly, spoiled, lap-sitting housecats. It was just embarrassing. Privately, Aya had always thought Persia was on drugs; it was the only way to explain the whole, ridiculous cat thing. Now that he really thought about it, though, "Persia" was codenamed after a housecat, too and, quite possibly, one of the most ridiculous-looking animals of all time. So, maybe that meant whoever really headed up Kritiker was the one who was on drugs --- or insane. All things considered, insanity was a possibility he couldn't rule out. At any rate, the moment he saw the coffee shop's interior, he knew this was Schuldich's idea of a joke. He sighed again. If it meant an end to all this cat crap, "retirement" from Weiss might just be a welcome relief. 

Aya stopped at the counter to pick up a newspaper and order black coffee and scrambled eggs. He refused to call the items by their "cutesy" menu names. As he paid for his order, he pointed toward a booth in a dark corner at the back of the store, indicating that the waitress could deliver the items there. With one last, furtive glance around the restaurant, Aya tucked his paper under his arm and slipped into the previously-indicated booth.

It was a pretty lucky break, this booth being open. He had seen it on his previous canvass of the shop, and had hoped he'd be lucky enough to find it vacant today. Strategically speaking, the booth was perfectly placed --- at the back of the shop, in a dark corner, one bench backed against the restaurant's rear wall. From this seat, Aya was able to see the whole restaurant, except for the restrooms, which were down a short hall, behind him and a little to the right, and the kitchen, which was behind the front counter. Despite those minor drawbacks, the booth offered him a view of the entire seating area and the front door, a fact he considered more important than being able to see the restrooms and kitchen. No other seat in the shop offered this much of an unobstructed view. Unless Schuldich was already present and hiding in either the restrooms or the kitchen, he would be certain to see the German as soon as he entered the coffee shop. And, even if the crazy Schwarz was in the restroom --- his most likely hiding place, if he had already entered the shop --- the booth's rear wall offered protection for Aya's back, making it virtually impossible for Schuldich to sneak up behind him.

Aya slid into the booth and rattled his paper open in front of his face to camouflage his surveillance of the door. He didn't know how long he might have to wait, and, despite his dread over this meeting, he rather hoped Schuldich wouldn't drag the waiting game out for too long. He thought Schuldich might show soon. The German was the one member of Schwarz who was almost as high-strung as he was, and, if he was ready for this whole little drama to draw to a close, he was willing to bet Schuldich felt the same way --- even more so, considering the German was out for revenge, this time pure and simple, without the complicated, convoluted motives and machinations they were used to seeing from Schwarz.

Almost as soon as he had settled in, Yohji's voice came over the communicator in his ear. It sounded small and tinny. "Aya? Everything OK?"

"Yeah," he replied. He adjusted the comm.'s volume control until Yohji's voice sounded more normal. "No sign of Schuldich. Where are you?"

"Bus stop. Across the street. Don't worry. Got your back."

Aya couldn't help but smile at the succinct words, and short, to-the-point sentences. Yohji's normal, charismatic personality and the warm, jovial voice that seemed to always hold the hint of a private joke within it were hidden behind the snapped, short words and icy, matter-of-fact tone now that the tall blonde had entered "mission mode". Yohji was on the hunt now, and the blonde's normal mannerisms wouldn't return until they had run their prey to ground. Aya wasn't as gregarious or talkative as Yohji, but he knew it was the same for him. His own voice and manner of speaking changed once a mission had started. For him, the change was almost imperceptible, but it was there, for those who knew him well enough. 

Aya didn't like the idea of it, but he had to admit knowing Yohji was nearby reassured him and made him feel better --- more relaxed, calmer, as if it might be possible to work their way out of this whole mess with their lives. He didn't know exactly how or when it had happened, and it still surprised him. It wasn't something he had wanted, but, somewhere along the way, he had come to rely on the tall blonde. The older man's presence reassured him like nothing else could, and he found himself needing Yohji's friendship and support. It had snuck up on him, like a thief in the night, or like an assassin --- this unsought, unasked for, and unwanted feeling of camaraderie, friendship, and mutual respect. Aya hated it. He hated himself for needing and wanting it. It made him weak; it made him do things he wouldn't normally do, things he didn't want to do.

With Ken and Omi, he could maintain his icy, aloof demeanor. He could manage to keep them from getting too close, and he could tell himself he didn't care what happened to them. In his heart, he knew that wasn't true, but he could still lie to himself about it in an effort to protect himself from the kind of pain he'd felt when his sister was injured and his parents killed. He still felt it --- pain and anguish as fresh and raw as the day he had watched Takatori run her down --- whenever he sat at her bedside and looked at her sleeping face. He wished, with his entire soul, for nothing more than to hear her voice or see her smile. He didn't ever want that kind of pain again; he just couldn't go through that again. His heart and soul couldn't take it; he wasn't strong enough to survive it. That was why he had to keep the rest of Weiss at a safe distance, why he desperately struggled to convince himself he didn't care about them. He just couldn't stand to lose anyone else.

But, with Yohji, he couldn't pretend. Somehow, the blonde idiot had wormed his way in, and, without intending to, he found himself telling Yohji things he wouldn't have ever shared with anyone else. He allowed the blonde to keep him company, even when he really wanted to be alone. He let Yohji pull him out of his self-imposed solitude with a joke or a reassuring word of friendship. He let the older man talk him away from the edge of insanity whenever he slipped into a particularly self-destructive mood. Worst of all, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself, he had been relieved when Yohji had, without even a second thought, left Weiss behind that night several weeks ago to follow him into the jaws of hell. Had it not been for Yohji, he would be dead now. He remembered the disconnected feeling of floating, injured and sick, through the blackness, and he remembered how much he had wanted to remain there. Yohji's voice had penetrated that black shroud. He had come back because of the fear he had heard in the older man's voice. It was as simple as that. And, that thought terrified Aya, probably more than anything else in his life ever had.

" Aya? You sure you're OK?"

Yohji's voice cut through his ear. Aya realized he'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard a word Yohji had said.

"S sorry," he muttered into the comm. "Repeat?"

He heard a tense, irritated sigh, followed by, "What's going on? You all right?" Despite being in "mission mode", Yohji wasn't able to hide the concern in his voice.

"Yeah," Aya replied.

Yohji sighed again, and continued, "I said: How's it look?"

"Not too crowded," Aya said, taking stock of the shop's interior once more. "Two exits: front door back door, near restrooms. I've got a good view of most of the interior, including the front door." He paused for a moment and added, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice, "There are cats all over the damn place --- painted on the walls, employees' uniforms, dishes everything. It's irritating."

Yohji chuckled softly. "That Schuldich is one sick fuck," he said. After a brief pause, he continued, "Focus."

"Yeah," Aya replied.

"If you're not comfortable, get out," Yohji continued.

"I will," Aya reassured him.

"I mean it," Yohji insisted. "There has to be another way." He paused, as if expecting Aya to either argue with him or agree, and, when the redhead did neither, he muttered, irritably, "I don't like this."

"I know," Aya answered.

"If I see him, I'll call," Yohji said, before severing their connection.

*************************************************************

Two hours into his vigil, Aya had drunk three cups of coffee, pushed the food on his plate around until it had turned into unrecognizable mush, and waved the waitress away at least twenty times. But, there hadn't been any sign of Schuldich. Just as he was about to tell Yohji this whole thing looked like a bust, the comm. in his ear screeched to life.

"Germans have landed," Yohji snapped. There was a miniscule pause, about as long as a heartbeat, before the blonde said, "I've got a bad feeling. Get out of there."

Aya frowned and considered doing as Yohji said. The blonde's hunches were unerringly accurate. He knew Yohji hadn't quite been on board with this plan from the beginning, and, normally, he would have just blown off the warning as a case of overprotective nerves. But, there was something in the older man's voice --- a touch of nervousness, maybe, or fear that shouldn't have been there. And, that sound, that little, slight tremor, made him give a split-second thought to darting out the back door and going after Keiko in a different way. A split-second was all the time Aya had, though. Just as he was about to slide from his seat and head for the back exit, the bell on the shop's front door rang, signaling the arrival of a new customer. Aya looked up to see Schuldich grinning maliciously at him, and his stomach did an involuntary flip-flop at the evil, predatory look on the German's face.

"Too late," Aya said into the comm. "He's here."

Before he severed their connection, he heard Yohji mutter, "Shit. If you're not out in ten, I'm coming in."

***************************************************************

Yohji turned off his comm. with a savage click and looked at his watch, starting the mental clock that would, ever so slowly, tick off their improvised timeline. Time always seemed to drag during a mission, making seconds seem like hours. But, this time, Yohji knew it would be a million times worse. This time, ten minutes would feel like ten thousand years, as if time had simply stopped, trapping Aya in that stupid-assed cat-themed coffee shop with one of the craziest fuckers to ever walk the earth.

Yohji kicked at a stone, sending it flying out into the street with a vengeance, and cursed under his breath. He didn't like this --- on so many levels. He hadn't been crazy about Aya's plan from the get-go, but, now, his danger sense was screaming at him. He could feel the little hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and that told him something about this whole thing was wrong --- horribly wrong. Yohji shook his head and muttered yet another string of curses under his breath. He knew his instincts were right, and ignoring them like this went against his basic nature. But, they had come too far to back out now; they had already passed the point of no return.

When Schuldich had reached the coffee shop's front door, he had paused and looked across the street at the bus bench where Yohji had been perched all morning. The German shouldn't have known he was there. As far as anyone in the underground community in which both Weiss and Schwarz operated was concerned, Aya had gone rogue alone after his attempted, forced "retirement". Kritiker certainly didn't want all of Weiss' enemies to know the team was two men down, and they didn't want anyone to know they had trouble controlling their operatives. So, the organization had hidden Yohji's departure from the rest of the world. Even so, Schuldich had looked directly at him. He had felt the German looking right into his eyes, as if the man bored right into his very soul, and, before entering the restaurant, Schuldich had waved at Yohji and given him a smug, confident, little smirk.

That was what really made Yohji's skin crawl --- that smug, self-satisfied smirk on the German's face. Somehow, the smirk was worse than the fact Schuldich knew he was there. The German was a telepath, after all, and Yohji hadn't ever been as good at putting up mental shields against his attacks as Aya was, which meant Schuldich could easily have picked his mind out of the jumbled thoughts of the crowd milling about on the sidewalk. But, that smile --- it was as if Schuldich had **expected** him to be there, as if his presence, somehow, made the German's game complete. It was that tiny facial expression that made Yohji want to throw the mission plan to the wind and run in there to drag Aya from the coffee shop, but he forced himself to keep his seat. He cursed softly even as he told himself that he had to wait. He reminded himself this was just a simple meeting to arrange the exchange --- in and out, nothing more. He had to have faith in Aya's ability to take care of himself. Still, it didn't mean he had to like this stupid, hare-brained plan.

*****************************************************************

Schuldich entered without stopping to order anything, which earned him a disapproving look from the waitress behind the counter. Glittering, angry, brown-gold eyes fixated on Aya the moment Schuldich stepped through the door. The German ignored everything and everyone else in the restaurant, almost like the two of them were the only ones who existed in this particular universe, as he crossed the floor to slide smoothly into the booth, facing Aya.

Aya was shocked at the German's physical appearance. Schuldich was normally smug, self-confident, and self-possessed to the point of being irritating. The man sitting across the table from him now seemed like a shadow of the Schwarz assassin Aya knew. Schuldich was wearing a pair of loose, baggy khaki pants, and a blue, long-sleeved linen shirt, which was open at the neck and hung to his mid-thighs. Despite the cold weather, Schuldich only wore a light jacket, and the clothes were wrinkled and dirty. It looked as if the German had been wearing them for quite some time. Schuldich's hair, normally well-kept and held off his face by a wide, elastic band, was tangled, matted, and dirty. It looked as if it hadn't been washed in weeks, and it hung messily in his face, partially hiding his eyes. His skin was paler than Aya's, and his face was haggard and drawn. There were heavy, dark circles under his eyes, which told Aya Schuldich probably hadn't slept in several days. The swordsman could see dirt smudges on his face and hands, and Schuldich smelled as if he hadn't bothered to bathe in some time.

The German fumbled in his jacket pocket for a couple of seconds, until he managed to fish out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. He pulled out one of the sticks and lit it, cupping his hands around the end of the cigarette as he did so. With that task accomplished, he leaned casually back in his seat. He rested one arm along the top of the bench's back, and used his other hand to remove the cigarette from his mouth. Schuldich tilted his head toward the ceiling and let out a long stream of smoke on a soft, sighing breath. He took three more drags from his cigarette, following the same pattern of actions, before he finally turned his attention to the redhead sitting across from him.

Schuldich glared at Aya, boring into him with predatory eyes that, although tired, glittered with the most intense rage the Weiss assassin had ever seen. Aya had slammed his mental shields in place the moment Schuldich had walked into the shop, but he could still feel the telepath's angry, hateful, rage-filled thoughts slowly boring their way into his mind, like a ravenous beast, throwing itself against the walls again and again, seeking with nose and claws and teeth for just one small crack, just one tiny break. It seemed the desire for revenge, while dulling Schuldich's sanity and control, had also increased the strength of his telepathic powers.

Aya knew he wouldn't be able to hold out against Schuldich's probing, not if the telepath's powers continued to surge at this level. He decided to let his guard down a bit, in hopes of preserving some of his energy. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Aya felt a surge of rage and hatred, tinged with anguish, sorrow, and the most profound sense of loss he had ever experienced. The thoughts and feelings flooded his mind, forcing him back in his seat. Aya put a hand to his head as he involuntarily backed away from Schuldich, one hand raised out in front of his body in a token defensive gesture. He wanted to distance himself from the thoughts and emotions he felt, but he couldn't. They were inside his head. Schuldich was inside his head, and he had let the crazy bastard in. Aya knew there was no escape.

Within a few seconds, the thoughts withdrew, like the tide ebbing out from the beach into the ocean, only to be replaced with a cold, dark void. The rage and hatred left nothing behind in their place, and Aya felt the coldness from that void begin to seep into his body and soul. The small exchange, which had lasted only a few seconds, left him dizzy and exhausted, and Aya recalled the almost-undetectable undertone of fear in Yohji's voice when the blonde had told him to leave without meeting Schuldich. Now, he was wishing he'd taken Yohji's advice.

"Now, you know a little of what I feel, Precious," Schuldich whispered in his silky-smooth voice, which held only the slightest hint of a German accent.

Schuldich smiled at him, a crazy, predatory smile that seemed to curl from the cigarette held loosely in his lips outward, toward the edge of his mouth, but never came near his eyes. His eyes remained the same the entire time --- cold, angry, desiring vengeance, and completely fixated on Aya. He leaned forward, across the table. Without waiting for an invitation, he picked up the fork lying across Aya's plate and began picking at the redhead's untouched eggs. He pushed the cold food around on Aya's plate and took one small bite after another, chewing around his cigarette, and smiling at the disdain and irritation plainly written on the swordsman's face.

Aya struggled to keep his emotions under control. Schwarz were Weiss' sworn enemies --- their opposites in almost every respect --- and, consequently, he had been forced into the German's presence more times than he cared to remember during his association with Weiss. Being near Schuldich had never been what one could consider a pleasant experience, but this predatory, malice-filled, enraged, grief-crazed creature was nothing like the cold, calculating assassin he knew Schuldich to be. It made Aya's skin crawl.

Suddenly, he forgot why he had met with Schuldich this way forgot all about learning where the German was holding Keiko forgot all about the need to get the little girl back safely. Everything was lost in the instinctive, burning desire for flight in the thought that screamed through his mind --- escape --- and in the need, so basic and strong that it made his heart thump rapidly against his ribs, to jump up from this booth and flee the red-haired assassin's malevolent presence. Schuldich smiled at his fear, and Aya shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind, fully aware his telepathic companion was having no trouble reading or deciphering them. In his heightened mental state, brought on by the feelings of loss, hatred, and revenge he had shoved at Aya earlier, Shuldich must have seen the younger man's emotions as easily as one sees a flashlight shining in a darkened room.

After a brief struggle, Aya managed to regain his composure, and, in an icy tone, asked, "Where's the little girl?"

Schuldich continued to pick at Aya's eggs, and after a couple of seconds, he shrugged and replied, "Safe."

Aya hissed in irritation. "Safe is not a place," he snapped. His hand shot forward to grab Schuldich's wrist in an iron grip, forcing the German to drop the fork, and he continued, "I want her back. Tell me where she is."

"You want you want you want," Schuldich chanted in a slightly crazed, sing-song voice, never meeting Aya's gaze. Instead, his eyes, which had dilated to the point where they were almost all pupil, ringed only by a sliver of hard, glittering golden-brown, remained fixated on the white hand grabbing him and the long, thin fingers gripping his wrist with an amazing and unexpected strength. He finally looked up, and the crazy, dilated eyes bored into Aya's with a malice and hatred the redhead had seldom seen, as he asked, "What about what I want?"

Aya's danger sense kicked into high gear at the sight of Schuldich's eyes. They told him the German, who had always seemed to teeter on the razor's edge of sanity, had finally fallen into the abyss. Too late, he realized there would be no talking to this man, and he tried to pull his hand away from Schuldich's wrist. Madness and a thirst for revenge had done nothing to slow Schuldich's reflexes. With a movement so swift it was almost imperceptible, he twisted the wrist Aya held, breaking the redhead's hold on him and pinning Aya's arm to the table, while, in almost the same, fluid motion, he used his free hand to jerk a syringe from his jacket. He savagely plunged the needle into Aya's arm, quickly dispensing its contents, and then released the redhead's wrist. He sat back and sneered smugly at Aya as he watched the slightly disoriented redhead attempt to stagger to his feet.

Schuldich wasn't worried about his prey escaping. The drug he'd used took effect quickly, and, even if Aya managed to maintain enough control over his body to exit the booth, he knew the kitty wouldn't ever make it to the door. He stubbed out his mostly-smoked cigarette in the half-eaten plate of eggs and casually lit a second one as he waited for the drug to completely take effect.

Aya felt his body rapidly shutting down. He wanted to bolt from the table and out the door. He thought about Yohji, sitting out there, waiting, on the bus bench just across the street. It might as well have been a million miles away. His mind screamed at him to run, but he couldn't control his legs enough to stand, let alone crossing the length of the entire coffee shop to make it to the door and help. He stared at Schuldich, hating the smug smirk he saw plastered on the German's face, even as his vision went out of focus, and then gray. His hearing seemed to tunnel down, until it sounded like everything came from a great distance away, or like he was under water, with sounds just barely filtering down to him. Finally, he gave in and allowed the encroaching blackness to swallow him.

Schuldich smiled contentedly as he watched Aya slowly give up his battle with the drug. As the redhead succumbed, he leaned forward and grabbed Aya's hair, pulling the younger man's face toward him in a rough gesture. "Now, it's time for what I want," he whispered, before shoving Aya back into his seat, against the back of the booth.

Schuldich casually finished smoking his second cigarette. Once he was done, he snubbed it out in the plate of cold eggs, next to the first one. He tossed the empty syringe there, too. Standing, he moved to Aya's side of the booth, where the redhead had hung his coat on a hook at the end of the bench, and fumbled through Aya's pockets. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill and tossed it onto the table, figuring the least the Weiss kitty could do was leave a generous tip. He pulled a picture out of his pocket, flipped it over, wrote an address on the back, and then placed it next to the plate of eggs. Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved the syringe, and, after cleaning discarded eggs off of it, placed it carefully across the top of the photograph. Satisfied at last with the tableau he had created, Schuldich quickly checked his watch before pulling Aya out of the booth. Tossing the unconscious redhead over his shoulder, the German casually strolled out of the restaurant's back door, as if nothing unusual had happened. The entire exchange had taken a little over five minutes.

*********************************************************

Yohji fidgeted on the cold bus stop bench, squirming around and jiggling his legs, until the other people waiting for the bus finally moved slightly away from him. Normally, he might have felt slightly bad about disturbing perfect strangers that way, not to mention making himself so noticeable during a stake-out. But, now, he couldn't spare a feeling for either of those things. He didn't give a rat's ass about the people standing around him; for all he was concerned, they might as well not have been there at all. And, it didn't matter if he was noticeable or not, since Schuldich had already seen him. It wasn't like his presence here was a secret to anyone.

"I don't like this. I don't like this. I don't like this." Yohji chanted the mantra under his breath, over and over, as he squirmed around on the bench and nervously checked his watch every few seconds.

He had been waiting out here for an eternity, which, in reality, had been about eight minutes so far. He had hoped Aya would emerge from the coffee shop fairly quickly, but, as the time ticked down toward the ten minute deadline with still no sign of the redhead, Yohji was starting to have the uneasy feeling something had gone wrong. He checked his watch again, and fought the urge to dash across the street and into the restaurant. He could trust Aya. Aya could take care of himself. He had to believe that. Besides, if nothing had gone wrong and he needlessly raced to his teammate's rescue, Aya would be furious, not to mention it could cost them the one chance they had of locating Hank's daughter, which was an unacceptable outcome to all parties concerned. Instead, Yohji swallowed his fears, choked down his instincts, and forced himself to remain firmly seated on the bus stop bench, eyes glued to the coffee shop doorway directly across the street.

After checking his watch for what had to be the hundredth time within the past two minutes, Yohji realized that, finally, Aya's ten minutes had elapsed. Cursing under his breath, the tall blonde sprinted across the street, weaving through moving traffic and ignoring the honks, curses, and creative hand gestures he received from drivers who were forced to screech to a stop to avoid hitting him. Winded from his mad dash, he grabbed for the coffee house door and flung it open so hard that the bell jangled loudly, drawing attention from the patrons and the few employees working behind the counter. Yohji ignored them as he stood in the doorway, panting and scanning the room for any sign of Aya. He didn't see his teammate anywhere. Yohji moved into the shop, praying he was wrong, that Aya was just in the restroom or something. The bell on the door clanged loudly once again, as it slammed shut behind him.

Without hesitation, he crossed the seating area, unaware of the dozen pairs of eyes that still followed his movements, and quickly arrived at the booth in the back of the shop. He knew Aya had been sitting there. The redhead's coat --- the same olive-green one he had stolen from Hank all those months ago --- still hung on the hook at the end of the booth. There was a half-eaten plate of eggs on the table, along with a barely-touched cup of coffee. Two cigarette butts had been snubbed out, unceremoniously, in the middle of the left-over food. Yohji frowned. The cigarettes had to be Schuldich's. Aya might smoke occasionally, but the redhead, a dyed-in-the-wool neat freak, wouldn't ever snub his butts out in a plate of food.

As he slid into the booth, facing the doorway, Yohji noticed the syringe. He picked it up with trembling hands, and held it up to the light. He could still see the remnants of something in there. He thought it might be poison, but dismissed that notion almost as quickly as it occurred. Schuldich wouldn't have gone to the trouble of taking a dead body with him, and he was bent on revenge, which meant a quick death would be too easy for Aya. Yohji set the syringe aside, and his eyes fell on what had been underneath it. He picked up the photograph and studied it closely. It was a picture of Keiko. Yohji turned the photograph over and saw an address, which he instantly recognized as belonging to one of Kritiker's safe houses, written in Schuldich's slanting, slightly-messy handwriting. The syringe and photograph left little doubt in Yohji's mind as to what had happened. He was certain Schuldich had made his exchange today, and, satisfied with taking Aya captive, had returned the little girl.

"You know, if you want to sit here, I can have someone clear the table for you."

Yohji looked up in response to the voice that broke into his thoughts, and found himself staring into the calm, black eyes of one of the waitresses. She was young, probably in college, with long, straight, thick, jet-black hair held loosely in a ponytail at the nape of her neck and deep, dark, blue-black eyes that seemed to invite one to drown in their depths. Her full lips, which were painted red, drew into a smile, revealing perfect, white teeth. Like all the other employees here, she wore the "Kitty's Cup" t-shirt, jeans, and white, canvas tennis shoes. Both t-shirt and jeans were so tight they seemed almost painted onto her slender, perfectly shaped figure. Yohji stared for a moment at the way the child-like cat drawing stretched across her young, firm breasts, and, despite his concern for Aya, he couldn't help but think, 'What a lucky, lucky kitty.'

Feeling like a complete heel for having such lascivious thoughts while Aya's life was probably in danger, Yohji shook his head, forcing his mind to come back from wherever it had wandered off to. Although, he figured Aya probably wouldn't be too mad at him, all things considered. She was really, really pretty and, he was Yohji Kudou, after all.

"Um," Yohji said slowly, still trying to tear his eyes from the waitress' chest, "Did you see where the two men who were sitting here went?"

She frowned and shook her head, as she replied, "No. I didn't even see them leave. They were just there a minute ago. Must have gone out the back you know, through the emergency exit?"

"Doesn't it have an alarm?" Yohji asked.

The waitress shook her head. "It's broken," she replied. "So? You gonna order or what?"

For a moment, Yohji was torn. One part of him wanted to run out the back door, after Aya, but another part of him --- mostly his over-active libido, which constantly lurked in a dark corner of his mind --- dawdled over exactly what he would like to order from this particular waitress. 'This is not the time,' he sternly told himself, forcing his mind to let go of thoughts of this girl in his bed, covered with whipped cream or whatever else he could think of to lick off her.

"Um, no. No, thanks," he mumbled as he rose and gathered the photograph and Aya's coat.

He was halfway to the back door when his over-sexed mind asserted itself again, forcing him to turn for one last look at the waitress. He was pleased to see she was staring after him, a look that was a mixture between disappointment and longing plainly written across her face. He paused for a moment, and, silently cursing himself for being such a prick and thinking of bedding this girl when Aya's life was at stake, he quickly returned to her side. He pulled a small scrap of paper, which turned out to be one of his Koneko business cards, from his pocket and hastily scribbled the phone number of his latest throw-away cell, which he'd purchased a few days ago, on its back. He gave the waitress a gentle, almost shy smile and shoved it into her hand.

"Um," he muttered, still feeling slightly ashamed, "In a few days, you know, when everything's settled down, you can reach me at that number if you want."

He gave her his best Kudou, lady-killer smile, and, when she gave him a smile of acceptance in return, he felt his heart jump. "Be sure to bring whipped cream," he whispered in her ear. He briefly allowed his lips to linger on the soft skin of her neck, just below her earlobe, and brushed her dangling earring lightly with his tongue. As he darted through the rear door, he heard her giggling in response to his parting comment, and he couldn't contain the expectant grin that crossed his face.

The restaurant's rear door deposited him directly into the alley behind the store. Yohji stood in the middle of it, looking from one end to the other, but he didn't see any sign of Schuldich or Aya. He knew it was pointless, but he searched the alley, anyhow, in the vain hope that, maybe, Schuldich had decided to leave Aya behind, hidden behind a stack of garbage or a pile of trash cans. As expected, he didn't find anything. The wind was cold. It whipped down the alley and cut right through him. Yohji turned up his coat collar against it as he walked slowly toward the street, silently cursing. It wasn't the wind that cut through him and made his blood feel like ice. It was dread and the horrible feeling that he was now completely, irrevocably, alone.

As he emerged onto the street in front of the shop, he felt incredibly guilty about hitting on the waitress while Schuldich was probably making off with Aya. Yohji finally shrugged, thinking to himself, 'But, she was really hot, and I haven't had a date in I don't know how long. Aya wouldn't have expected me to pass that up Aya would have known better than to expect me to pass that up. When he gets back, we'll laugh about it. I bet he'll think it's pretty damn funny.'

He pulled his coat collar closer to his face as he took the throw-away cell from his pocket and punched in the numbers that would ring another such phone he'd left with Hank. 'I just hope we get the chance to laugh about it,' he thought as he listened to the scratchy, tinny rings and waited for Hank to pick up the connection.

After about three rings, Hank's breathless voice came over the phone, "Ran?"

Yohji sighed and replied, "No. It's it's Yohji. I've got a couple of errands to run, and then I'm coming back."

Hank paused, as if digesting the information Yohji had just given him, and then replied, "What other errands? It was supposed to be there and back, nothing else." Yohji heard a short gasp of breath before Hank's voice resumed, decidedly softer and more hesitant, as if he were unsure and afraid of the answer he'd get to his next question, "You didn't find her?"

Yohji shook his head, even though he knew the other man couldn't see him, as he replied, "No, we found her. I'm going to need some help getting her back, though. Don't worry. I'll explain it all when I get back, OK?"

There was another long pause, before Hank reluctantly agreed, "OK. Is Ran coming back alone, then?"

"Aya's gone," Yohji responded, quickly severing the connection before Hank could ask anything else.

****


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Yohji checked his watch as he entered a convenience store about ten blocks from the coffee shop to purchase yet another pre-paid cell phone, some pretzels, and a soda. After paying for his purchases with cash, he traveled another several blocks to a park he had seen during an earlier reconnaissance of the area. He found an out-of-the-way bench and sat down to eat his pretzels, drink his soda, and wait. He didn't have any doubt Keiko was safe. Schuldich's goal had been revenge against Aya, and, no matter how evil or deranged the German was, Yohji didn't think he'd hurt a little kid, unless it served his purposes. Once he had gotten his hands on Aya, Schuldich no longer needed the girl. Of course, putting her at a Kritiker safe house made things a lot more difficult for Yohji, since he wasn't exactly on friendly terms with the organization at the moment. Knowing the German, Schuldich had probably seen using the safe house as a joke.

Yohji pulled the photograph from his pocket and looked at it once more. She really was a lovely child, and, no matter how much he wanted to hate Hank for what the Texan had done and for the danger he'd put Aya in, Yohji found he couldn't really hold it against the man. He figured, if he had kids, he'd have done the same thing. He damn sure knew he'd do the same thing to save Aya, or any of Weiss, for that matter. They were the closest thing to family he had. As terrified as he was at the thought of losing Aya, he couldn't even begin to imagine how the possibility of losing a child might feel. He was terrified, almost to the point of being frozen from the emotion, at the thought of Aya in Schuldich's hands, but, still, he figured it couldn't even come close to a person's feelings for their own flesh and blood. Suddenly, he understood why Aya had forgiven Hank so easily. In a way, it had been easier for the redhead, because he still carried the pain of his sister's accident. Perhaps it made Aya able to empathize with Hank's feelings of desperation and loss.

He ran his fingers gently over the picture, noticing for the first time that it had a date stamp on it, the kind the camera automatically attaches to some photos. The date was today's. He reminded himself he hadn't really thought Schuldich would harm the girl, but, still, he felt relieved at the small confirmation. Flipping the photograph over, he studied the address again, recognizing it as a safe house Kritiker rarely used. Still, it belonged to the organization, which meant he was going to need help getting the girl out of there. He hadn't wanted to involve Omi and Ken, but, now, there seemed to be little choice. He needed their ability to move freely within Kritiker, and, if he had any hope of finding Aya, he needed their access to secured electronic files and programs.

Yohji dragged himself away from his thoughts and checked his watch, feeling a little surprised to find he'd already been here for a couple of hours. It hadn't seemed like that long. He hastily pulled another Koneko no Sumu Ie business card from his wallet, and scribbled the number to his newest disposable cell, along with the following sentence: _"Go to park"._

_*******************************************_

Yohji followed the same routine as last time: waiting in the darkened alley across from the flower shop until the two strange Kritiker agents left, and, then, paying one of Ken's soccer kids to deliver the box containing the phone to his two teammates. As before, everything had gone smoothly, and, now, he sat at the park in the newly-"reclaimed" neighborhood, on the same shadowed bench near the entrance where he'd sat the last time he'd talked to the two youngest assassins.

After about an hour, his vigil came to an end. Ken and Omi entered the park and quickly claimed a seat on the bench almost directly across from his, just as they had the last time. Within seconds, Yohji heard the soft ring of his phone. He hesitated briefly, knowing full well Ken and Omi wouldn't hesitate to do whatever he asked, but also knowing it meant they'd no longer be completely free of this mess. Aya hadn't wanted any of them involved, and Yohji felt bad about throwing the redhead's intentions to the wind so easily, even if it meant saving Aya's life. Still, he didn't see any other way, and he thought he could limit their involvement to retrieving Keiko and, maybe, accessing Kritiker files regarding Schwarz, which somewhat salved his guilty conscience. Resolved in his decision, Yohji answered the phone on the third ring.

"Yeah?"

"Yohji?" Omi's voice squeaked over the phone, sounding small and lost.

Yohji felt a pang of guilt over what Ken and Omi had to be going through. He knew it had to be an emotional roller coaster, considering they knew nothing of what was happening, other than whatever lies Manx or Persia decided to feed them.

He smiled, knowing they couldn't see the reassuring gesture, but hoping it carried through with his words and tone of voice, as he said, "Yeah, it's me."

Ken's voice broke in suddenly, proof that he and Omi were, once again, employing a splitter to allow the use of two headphones and speakers, "What happened? Is Aya?"

"No," Yohji replied quickly, cutting Ken off before he could finish. "Aya's alive; he's OK I think."

"What does that mean?" Ken asked. He sounded jittery and angry, as if he wanted to fight with someone. Normally, Yohji would have been more than happy to rise to the occasion, but he let the ex-goalie's abrasive tone roll off of him, attributing it to the stress they'd been under for the past several weeks.

Yohji hesitated a moment, searching for the best way to tell them Aya was gone, grasping for words that would cushion the emotional blow. But, in the end, he couldn't find any "right" words, and decided to just blurt it out, "Schuldich has him. At the sound of two horrified gasps, Yohji continued, "I I can explain, but it's a long story."

"We have time," Omi replied.

Yohji took a deep breath and, as quickly as he could, explained about Aya waking up about a week ago, their brief search for Keiko, their contact with Schuldich through the classified ad, and Aya's plan to trade himself for the little girl. He finished with, "So, today was the meeting with Schu. It was just supposed to be to arrange an exchange, but I guess he had different ideas. When I got there, Aya was gone, and Schuldich had left a picture of Keiko, along with the location where we can find her."

"So you found her that's good," Ken said slowly.

"Yeah," Omi whispered at the ex-goalie in a soft hiss, "but Aya's gone, and that's **bad**."

"I know that. I'm not stupid," Ken replied defensively.

"Look," Yohji broke in, "I don't have time to sit here and listen to you two squabble like a couple of school girls. I need some help, but don't feel like you have to. If you don't want to, or feel uncomfortable, just say no, and I'll go away, no questions asked. No hard feelings."

Yohji had barely gotten the sentence out of his mouth before Omi cut in, "Of course we'll help! Did you even need to ask? Name it."

"Keiko is at a Kritiker safe house," Yohji replied, slowly. "It's one that they don't really use, but still, considering that it's Kritiker and all"

"You want us to go get her," Ken filled in. "Fine. Done. We'll go as soon as we get done here. What's the address?"

"I'm sitting on the bench directly across from you," Yohji replied. He paused as his friends both looked up, trying to see through the impenetrable shadows cloaking him. He chuckled, and continued, "When I hang up, I'll leave her picture on the bench. Give me a couple minutes to clear the area, and then come pick it up. Schuldich wrote the address on the back."

"All right," Omi said. "How do we get her back to you?"

"Use the phone to call the number I gave you today. I'll set up a meeting where I can pick her up. I want to get her back with her dad as soon as possible."

"OK," Omi replied again.

Yohji paused for a moment before continuing, hesitantly, "There there's more."

"Yeah?" Ken asked, "What? Just you know name it."

Yohji took another deep breath and said, "Schuldich I don't know he's crazy. I saw him today when he showed up for the meeting, and he's totally deranged off his rocker. I think he's gone rogue from Schwarz. Even if he hasn't, he's acting alone in this; I'm sure of it. I need you to contact Crawford set up a meeting for me. I'm sorry about getting you guys involved, but I don't have any other options. I can't do it myself I don't have the connections or the time and I'm not good enough with the computer to find him and contact him without Kritiker knowing. If I get killed by them now, we'll never get Aya back."

There was a long pause on the other end of the call. Yohji could almost hear the wheels turning in Omi's mind as the kid figured out how he'd do what the older man had just asked. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Omi said, "Yeah sure. I think I can do it from a public access terminal ---- you know, at an Internet café or the public library. But, it won't be easy. What should I tell him?"

Yohji paused for a moment, thinking. Finally he said, "Send this message: _**Wanted**: Someone who can read my mind. Red kitten must be included. 126 S. Nekko Street Jan. 31 for details. Ask for Aya Kudou_."

Omi paused, as if memorizing the message, and then said, "That doesn't give me much time to find him, Yohji."

"I know, kid. I'm sorry. But, considering how Schuldich is, Aya probably doesn't have much time, either."

"OK," Omi replied. "Don't worry. I'll get it done."

Yohji hadn't expected anything less, and was about to say so, when Ken's voice cut through his ear.

"What makes you think Crawford's going to help you?" the ex-goalie asked. "He is part of Schuldich's team, after all."

Yohji shrugged, a useless gesture, since he was talking on the phone to two people who, although sitting not even five feet away, couldn't see him. "I don't know," he said, quickly deciding honesty was the best policy. All things considered, it wasn't a time for them to be holding out on each other. "But, Schwarz has always been a team in name only. They don't seem to share the same loyalties we do. Crawford is all about keeping control. If Schu's gone rogue, I'm guessing he'll want to find him as badly as I do. Besides, he's a precog. It makes him do weird things that don't make sense to anyone else. Maybe this'll be one of those things."

"That's a hell of a gamble," Ken grumbled, almost under his breath.

"I know," Yohji replied, "But, it's the only card I have. I don't have any other choice."

That's not true," Omi countered, "I could "

"No!" Yohji snapped, cutting the boy off sharply. "It's bad enough I have to ask you to contact Crawford, and that's a simple, in-and-out sort of thing, relatively speaking. If you start looking for Schwarz or Schuldich hidey places, someone at Kritiker will notice. I don't want you guys involved in this any more than necessary."

"All right," Omi muttered.

"One more thing," Yohji said, "Can you get two plane tickets and passports for Hank and Keiko? I want to get them out of the country before Kritiker catches up to them. It won't be safe for them here anymore, now that Schuldich knows about Hank, and Kritiker is hot on his trail, too."

"Sure," Omi chirped. "Where do you want them to go?"

"Houston," Yohji replied. "It's a city in Texas, in the United States. Hank is from Texas. I figure he can probably handle getting wherever he wants to go from there."

"OK," Omi said. After a short pause, he said, reproachfully, "You know I **knew** where Houston was. I **am** the smart one, after all."

Yohji laughed, and said, "Yeah, I know."

"OK," Ken broke in, "We'll get Keiko, and Omi'll work on the tickets and stuff. If he can't get them together tonight, we'll let her stay at the shop. I'll tell the bozos watching us she's one of my soccer kids or something. We'll set up the meeting after we have everything together for them to leave. It'll be safer that way."

"Good thinking," Yohji replied. "OK, look, I've gotta go. Remember, give me a coupla minutes to clear the area before you come over here." As he spoke, he bent down to retrieve a medium-sized rock. He placed it on top of the photograph, to hold it in place. "Talk to you guys later," he said, clicking off the phone.

Yohji quickly rose from the bench, and, without a backward glance, walked across the park, in the opposite direction from Omi and Ken. He couldn't look back at them. If he did, he knew he wouldn't have the resolve he needed to stay out of Weiss long enough to find and rescue Aya. When he and Aya had been together, it hadn't seemed so bad, not being Weiss. Even being hunted by Kritiker hadn't seemed like such a big deal. But, now, he was alone, and he could feel the weight of his worry and the hopelessness of the situation crushing in on him. Just hearing their voices had made him think of home --- his soft, king-size bed, good times teasing each other and joking around at the flower shop, the times they would all go out together for the evening or to some stupid carnival or something Omi wanted to do. He could already feel his resolve melting, giving way to the desire to simply go home, a desire made all the stronger by his worry, hopelessness, and the fact he had always hated being alone, and he couldn't give in --- not now. Aya needed him. Aya was his friend, his closest friend in the world, probably, and he owed it to Aya to not give up so easily. Besides, home wouldn't be home if Aya wasn't there. 

****


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Two days after his conversation with Omi and Ken, Yohji and Hank were sitting across from each other in the yacht's little galley. After Yohji had explained what had happened, as far as he knew, during the meeting with Schuldich, where Keiko was, and how they were going to get her back, the two men had done a good job of completely avoiding the subjects of Keiko and Aya. In fact, they hardly talked at all, and a tense, worried, almost-palpable silence had prevailed over the boat ever since Yohji had returned from the city alone.

On this day, Bubba had managed to cram his huge body underneath the tiny table, a feat which never ceased to amaze Yohji. The big dog had been unusually subdued for the past two days. He followed Yohji from room to room on the yacht, looking at the tall blonde with mournful, saddened eyes that never failed to make him cringe with guilt. Bubba had virtually stopped eating, and, when he wasn't following Yohji from one room to another, he would lie on the floor of Aya's cabin, moping and whining softly.

It was fairly late in the afternoon, although Hank and Yohji had just finished their "breakfast". Both of them had been up late the night before. Hank had made some well-placed phone calls to underworld figures he knew from his time on the streets, and Yohji had passed the night by attempting to surreptitiously cruise the Internet for some sign of where Schuldich might be keeping Aya. Consequently, they had both slept in very late today. Yohji had been up for about an hour, and Hank had preceded him by, maybe, an hour and a half. Neither of them had been very successful in their efforts to locate Aya, and, as a result, they were both in a fairly foul mood.

Hank wasn't really worried about Keiko any more. He wouldn't truly feel comfortable until he had the little girl with him again, but he trusted Omi and Ken enough to know his daughter was finally safe. He just wished he could say the same for Ran. Just knowing the trouble and danger he had caused the redhead had been bad enough, but the thought that Ran had traded himself to that crazy German just to get Keiko back was driving Hank mad with worry and guilt. He and Yohji had split the newspaper Hank had gotten from Smitty during his supply run the previous day, and Hank rattled his half of it, peering at Yohji over the edge of the page.

The tall blonde sat across from him, alternately sipping coffee and puffing at his cigarette. Every so often, he would gently rub Bubba's back with his foot, but, otherwise, he appeared totally engrossed in the paper spread out in front of him. Yohji was Ran's friend, probably his best friend. The two of them seemed to have a connection that, if you stopped to think about it, went way deeper than friendship, and Hank couldn't believe his blonde companion could sit here, calmly sipping coffee, smoking, and reading the paper, as if he hadn't a care in the world, while Ran was still missing, and, maybe, even dead somewhere.

"What?" Yohji snapped, when he looked up to find Hank staring at him.

The Texan rattled his paper and quickly looked away, replying, "No nothing."

"Bullshit," Yohji hissed. "You might as well spit it out. There's no point in us having secrets not any more."

"Well," Hank stammered, slowly. He carefully folded the paper and laid it in front of him, stalling for the time he needed to figure out exactly how to say what he wanted to say without making Yohji angry. Finally, he continued, "I I was just wondering how you can just you know not worry about Ran."

Yohji's eyes narrowed, a hint of dangerous anger about them, and he pulled his mouth into a straight line, indicating his irritation with Hank's question through this tight-lipped frown.

"Not worried?" he asked.

Leaning his elbow on the table top and propping his chin in the open palm of his hand, he regarded Hank with a hard look that seemed somewhere in between disgust and hatred. The Texan felt his insides cringe, and, if he could have, he thought he might have crawled under the table with Bubba to get away from the blonde's piercing glare. Yohji might have come to terms with what Hank had done which, basically, had ended up driving Ran out of Weiss, but it was obvious the tall blonde hadn't forgiven him --- not by a long shot. Hank didn't think Yohji would ever forgive his betrayal of Ran. He didn't think Yohji could forgive him. He had been grateful when the tall blonde hadn't killed him. He hadn't expected to ever regain Yohji's friendship, and the fact that the other man had allowed him to continue living had been enough. Now, though, Hank squirmed in his seat as he was reminded, with no uncertainty, by the look in Yohji's glittering, angry eyes, just how deeply the blonde's feelings for Ran went, and just how much Yohji still hated him, on some level, for what he had done.

"You think I'm not worried because I drink coffee, smoke, and stare at a paper? What the fuck do you expect me to do?" Yohji snapped.

"I I'm s sorry," Hank stammered. He attempted to back away, but found his retreat blocked by the wall behind his side of the galley table. He waved his hands through the air in what he hoped was a placating gesture, as he continued to stammer, "I I shshouldn't I shouldn't have said anything."

"Maybe not," Yohji replied, his voice now hard enough to match the glittering anger in his green eyes, "but, you did, didn't you? Don't forget that you are, in more than a large part, responsible for this whole situation, and Aya hasn't been doing anything more than trying to pull your sorry ass out of the fire. So, am I worried that he's gone? Yeah. Does it make me crazy to think about that German bastard drugging him and carrying him out of that restaurant, in broad daylight, with me sitting right across the fucking street? Yep. When I find him, am I going to kill him? Maybe --- unless he kills me first. I'm going to kill him for what he did for what he did to Aya unless I can trade him for Aya's safety. But, if anything and I mean **anything** has happened to my friend, I'm going to kill anyone who had even the remotest responsibility for this situation, including the people who handled us at Kritiker, and, if I have to, to make myself feel better, even you. Don't fool yourself, Hank. We are **not** friends, you and I. That ship has sailed. Aya can forgive what you did; he is more generous than I am, and I think he understands it a lot better. Me? I can understand why you did it, but you will never get absolution from me. I've done what I've done so far --- arranging to get your daughter back, and getting you a way out of Japan --- because I thought it was the right thing to do, because I thought it was what Aya would want me to do. But, don't think it means you're off the hook. So, if you know what's good for you, you'd better spend all your free time on your knees praying that I get Aya back --- safe and sound. Because, if he is otherwise when I find him, there's nothing in this world that will save you, and no place where you can hide." He picked up his half of the paper, rattling it into place in front of his face, as he continued, "Besides, I don't know where to look for him. So, for now, all I can do is wait."

Hank swallowed down the lump of fear that had formed in his throat. Ever since their first meeting, in that dark alley all those weeks ago, Hank had harbored a certain amount of fear toward the tall blonde. But, Yohji had always been so jovial and friendly toward him, that, eventually, he had started to feel more at ease. Now, though, Hank realized the tall blonde hadn't ever felt any friendship or attachment to him at all. For the first time, the Texan realized Yohji had given him preferential treatment because of his friendship with Ran. For whatever reason, the redhead had opened up easily to him, which, from what Hank had gathered, was very rare. He realized now that what he had mistaken for friendship from Yohji was, from the beginning, nothing more than deference to Ran's decision to form a friendship with him. The tall blonde had loyalty only to Ran, and he only cared about Ran. It was that simple, and Hank couldn't figure out why he hadn't ever realized it before. Yohji was always joking, and he never seemed to take anything seriously. Maybe that was what had made it so difficult to see his motives and to realize just how deeply his feelings and loyalties ran.

For the past month or so, ever since that German guy had attacked Ran in the flower shop, Hank had been terrified of Yohji --- a terror that went deeper than the feelings of fear tinged with respect he normally held for the blonde man. Yohji had been on the verge of breaking all that time, and Hank had realized he was the one person standing squarely in the blonde's sights, should Yohji decide to take his frustration and rage out on someone. Seeing Ran up and somewhat recovered from his last set of injuries over the past couple of weeks or so had eased that fear somewhat, only because Yohji had seemed to settle down a little, had seemed to back away from that razor's edge on which he'd been teetering. But, now, Hank felt the terror reasserting itself, slamming through his brain like a freight train. The tall blonde's eyes held anger and rage of a depth the Texan had rarely seen, and he talked so easily and directly about killing that, if you hadn't looked into his eyes and seen the burning anger there, you'd almost think he was joking. Hank knew it was no joke. He knew Yohji could and would do the things of which he spoke; the blonde's words weren't empty threats they were promises laced with malice and hatred Hank guessed the blonde reserved for only his bitterest enemies.

Even so, now that everything came down to the wire now that it was time to put up or shut up, Hank found he couldn't feel any fear for his own life. All of his fear was reserved for Ran, a man who, even though he hadn't known him, had opened up to him and offered him friendship and life without asking for anything in return. As far as Hank figured, if anything happened to Ran, death was the least he deserved.

Yohji had gone back to staring at the paper, pulling it up like a wall between them. It was obvious he was done talking.

Hank stared at the back of the blonde's paper for several minutes, before, hesitantly, clearing his throat, and saying, "I I never meant" He cleared his throat again, before continuing, struggling to find the right words to express his emotions, "What I mean is I never would have if I'da known I never woulda let that guy hurt Ran. I never meant for him to hurt him. He was my friend, the first one in a long time. I hope he still is. I'm I'm sorry for all the shit that's happened. And for my part in it. I I never wanted anything to happen to him."

Yohji didn't emerge from behind his paper, but he said, in a voice softened by some emotion Hank couldn't quite place, "I know."

Hank decided to plunge ahead with the rest of what he wanted to say, encouraged by the fact that Yohji didn't automatically reject his words. He cleared his throat again and, nervously, said, "I I understand how you feel. I don't mind saying that I'm afraid of you, Yohji. My Daddy always said being afraid isn't a cause for shame, and I believe that. But if you come after me I won't hide. I won't run. I'll take responsibility for my part of this and I'll accept whatever you decide to do."

Before Yohji could reply, the cell phone, which was lying on the table between them, jangled to life. Yohji flipped the edge of his paper down so that he could look at the noisy device. He reached out for it, but, before he clicked it on, he looked at Hank, and, in the same soft, almost gentle, tone of voice, said, "I know."

He clicked the phone on after the fourth ring, and said, "Yes?"

Omi's voice came back at him, "Yohji? Omi. We got the girl. We got the tickets. Where and when?"

Yohji looked at his watch and then out at the sun, which had started to slowly fade from the sky. "Dock, Pier 17. Two hours." Without another word, he clicked the phone off, severing the connection.

"All right," he said. He smiled at Hank, a genuine, friendly smile, which, considering that, not even ten minutes before, he'd been threatening the Texan's life, shocked the hell out of Hank. "Everything's set. We're going to pick up Keiko in two hours."

********************************************************

The time seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace, but, finally, when it was almost time for the meeting with Ken and Omi, Hank, Yohji, and Bubba all piled into their little motor boat for the trip to the dock. At first, Yohji had thought about leaving the dog behind, but Bubba had looked so sad and lost that he had relented at the last minute. Now that they were underway and crossing the choppy water, he was regretting his decision. Bubba ran back and forth, from one end of the boat to the other, snapping at the fresh sea breeze that battered them and at the whitecaps that lapped at the boat's sides. The boat rocked heavily against the wind and choppy water, and the dog's antics just made things worse. Several times, Yohji thought Bubba was going to overturn the boat and dump them all into the cold sea. From time to time, the big dog would lean way out over the side of the boat, mouth open and tongue lolling, to catch the wind and spray in his face, or to bat at a passing whitecap with one huge, dangling paw. Yohji was afraid the stupid animal was going to fall out of the boat and drown. If that happened, he didn't have any idea what he would tell Aya when the redhead finally came home. Aya tried to hide it, but he was crazy about that stupid dog. Finally, about halfway into the trip, Bubba got bored and slumped down in the bottom of the boat, between the two rows of seats, much to Yohji's relief.

Once Bubba settled down, the rest of the trip passed rather uneventfully, and, before too much time had elapsed, Yohji, Hank, and Bubba stood uneasily on the dock, at Pier 17, awaiting Omi and Ken's arrival. Hank was nervous, although he tried to hide it by playing with Bubba. He threw a stick for the big dog to fetch, sending it sailing out into the darkness each time Bubba brought it back to him. After a few minutes, Bubba got tired of playing fetch, and plopped to the ground at Yohji's feet, so that he could chew and worry at the stick.

The two men were silent, and the nighttime quiet was broken only by the soft sounds of waves slapping against the pier and boats moored there, Bubba's snorting, and the wood breaking and splintering as he chewed his stick. Hank stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, which, he remembered with a pang of guilt, was one of the second hand ones Ran had given him, and tried not to pace back and forth. Despite feeling guilty, Hank was glad of the coat, because it was cold, especially since they were so near the water and out in the wind, and the coat was nice and warm. He pulled his hands out of the pockets long enough to flip the collar up around his ears, and stole a surreptitious glance at his silent companion.

Yohji, like Hank, was wearing a heavy coat and jeans. It wasn't visible beneath the coat, but Hank knew he also had on a heavy, white sweater. The Texan had recognized it earlier as one of the items of clothing Ran had worn before his disappearance. He had thought it odd, at the time, that, out of all the clean clothes he had, Yohji specifically picked an already-worn sweater, but, now, watching Yohji silently stare out at the water and chain smoke, Hank realized he had done it on purpose, to feel closer to his missing friend. Yohji's hair had grown long during their time in hiding, and now hung well below his shoulders. Although he normally wore it swept back into a low ponytail, tonight he had left it hanging loose, and it whipped around his face and shoulders in the wind to mix with the smoke streaming from his cigarette, nose, and mouth. As always, the blonde was wearing his sunglasses, and Hank could see the cigarette's glowing ember reflected in the dark lenses.

Hank finally gave into his urge to pace, and started walking in little circles around the pier, every so often glancing up to watch Yohji, although he was careful to make sure his companion didn't realize it. Yohji sat on a post, which stuck up near the edge of the pier. He had one long leg drawn up to his chest, holding it into place by encircling it with his arm. His other leg and arm both hung free. Every so often, he would use his free hand to take the cigarette from his mouth and flick ashes into the water or onto the pier's wet wood with a nervous, twitchy gesture. The smoke curled above his head, where the wind caught it and whipped it around in long streams, along with his hair. Once he had smoked a cigarette down almost to a small nub, he would toss it aside, crushing it under his boot, and immediately take another stick out of his crumpled pack. Hank had lost count, but he figured Yohji had probably smoked at least half a pack within the ten minutes they'd been waiting here. He barely moved. Except for the occasional movement of his arm to flick away ashes or occasionally stubbing out a still-glowing ember with his boot, he sat like a statue, staring out over the dark water.

Hank knew that, for him, this was almost over, provided Yohji didn't decide to visit him in Texas to exact revenge. Despite the blonde's promise of retribution if something happened to Ran, Hank felt relieved. He didn't think Yohji would really come after him. It wasn't that he didn't believe the blonde could do it. He was certain Yohji was more than capable of killing him, but he thought the blonde was speaking out of anger, and that, once he calmed down, he would change his mind. At least, that's what he hoped. Still, even with the uncertainty hanging over his future, Hank was relieved and glad. He was glad he would soon have his little girl back, glad he wouldn't have to worry for her safety any longer, and relieved they would soon be safely away from this country that he hated so much. He felt guilty for feeling that way. It occurred to him that this whole thing had actually worked out a lot better for him than he could have ever expected, since he was getting Keiko back. If that crazy bastard hadn't forced him to betray Ran, if Ran hadn't traded himself for Keiko, Hank's in-laws would still have custody of her, and he wouldn't even have any hopes of seeing her again. He felt guilt stealing over him at that thought, too.

Now, as he paused in his circuit of the pier, it occurred to him that, while his ordeal was almost over, Yohji's --- and Ran's --- was just beginning. As he watched his blonde companion silently chain smoking, Hank realized Yohji wouldn't feel gladness or relief until he found Ran, and, then, only if Ran was alive. And, there wasn't any way of knowing how long it might take to find their missing friend, or --- and, Hank hesitated at this thought --- even if he would be able to find Ran. So far, Yohji had no leads as to the redhead's whereabouts. And, even after he found Ran, there was still the problem of being hunted by the organization for which they worked. Even if they, somehow, managed to get out of that mess, considering the kind of work they did, it wasn't likely they'd feel much relief or joy for the rest of their lives. At that thought, Hank found he suddenly couldn't feel relieved or happy over his own good fortune. It suddenly seemed so hollow, like he didn't deserve it.

Hank looked up to find Yohji watching him, and he shrugged and gave the blonde a weak smile.

Yohji pulled the cigarette from his mouth and tossed his head back as he blew the smoke out in a long breath. "You're gonna wear a hole in that pier, you keep that shit up," he commented, staring at Hank briefly before turning his attention back toward the water.

"Sorry," Hank replied. He shrugged and came to stand next to Yohji. "Guess I'm just nervous."

Yohji stubbed out his cigarette, immediately reaching to pull another one from the pack hidden within his jacket pockets. After pulling out the new stick, he glanced into the package, holding it up into the light so that he could squint into its tiny opening. "Dammit," he commented, when he realized it was his last cigarette. He sighed and lit up, before looking sideways toward Hank. "What's to be nervous about?" he asked. "This is all over for you after tonight."

"Yeah," Hank replied, "Unless you decide to come lookin' for me later on."

Yohji grinned, "Yeah. That why you're so nervous?"

Hank shook his head and said, "Naw. Not not really. I mean, I'd rather not, but you know Anyhow, I mean, I haven't really seen Keiko in three years. What if she doesn't remember me?"

Yohji looked sideways at him again as he said, his words muffled around the cigarette he still held clamped in his lips, "Of course she'll remember you. You're her dad, right?"

Hank shrugged. Just as he was about to reply, Bubba growled and started up, into a standing position. At almost the same time, a delighted squeal cut through the cold night.

"Daddy! Daddy!" a little girl screamed, running up to Hank and Yohji, her arms outstretched. She laughed in delight as she approached them.

Bubba completely ignored the little girl. Instead, he ran past her, barking excitedly, as he saw two new arrivals that he recognized.

Hank turned immediately at the sound of the girl's voice. He couldn't hold back his cry of joy as he knelt down, holding his arms open for her. She jumped into them and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his long hair. Hank laughed and stood. Holding the girl tightly in his arms, he spun around in circles, laughing and crying at the same time.

Yohji also stood to face the new arrivals as Omi and Ken finally reached the end of the pier, both laughing and trying desperately to keep Bubba, who was terribly excited at seeing them after such a long absence, from knocking them down. The big dog yapped and jumped around like a puppy, licking at Omi's face and grabbing the end of Ken's jacket in his teeth. Ken and Omi had been holding Keiko's hands, but, when the little girl had caught sight of Hank, she had broken away from them to run ahead. They hadn't been quite able to keep up with her. Now, as they approached the end of the pier, Ken and Omi both paused, staring at Yohji. Wordlessly, they walked past Hank and his daughter to take Yohji in a brief group embrace before releasing the tall blonde, who hugged them back and ruffled Omi's hair, much to the boy's displeasure. After that, the three assassins simply watched the reunion, smiles on their faces. Despite their worry over Aya, Omi and Ken felt good about reuniting with Yohji, and all of them felt especially good about returning Keiko to Hank. It wasn't often that they actually got to do something like this, something they could really feel good about later.

Hank finally stopped hugging and spinning his daughter. Smiling, he set the little girl gently down on the pier, and held her at arms length to get a good look at her. "My little Keiko," he said softly, tears shining in his eyes. "Are are you all right? No one hurt you, did they?"

The little girl was wearing one of Omi's long-sleeved t-shirts, tied at the waist with some ribbon as a make shift belt, underneath one of the youngest assassin's jackets, which was at least five sizes too large for her. Omi had rolled the sleeves up and pinned up the tail of the coat as best as he could. Still, it hung off of Keiko. Her long black hair was pulled back into two little doggie ears, which hung on either side of her head. It was a fairly messy job, overall, but she was clean and happy, and she didn't seem any the worse for wear. She shook her head fiercely, making her doggie ears whip from side to side.

"Nuh-huh, Daddy," she stated, emphatically. "Mr. Omi and Mr. Ken was real nice to me. Are they your friends? Mr. Ken showed me how to kick a ball, 'cept I broke something for the flowers."

"Um one of the coolers," Ken volunteered, laughing. "She's got quite a power kick, your daughter. She'll be a great soccer player one day. You just wait."

Hank couldn't stifle his laughter at Ken's statement. He looked over to see his three friends watching him, too, smiles on their faces. He looked back to his daughter and said, "Yeah, Mr. Ken and Mr. Omi are my friends." He gestured toward Yohji, and said, "This is Mr. Yohji. He's my friend, too. They all helped to get you back." His voice turned serious as he asked, "But, the man who took you, who hid you from Daddy he didn't hurt you, at all did he?"

Again, the head shake, a furious twirl of long hair and ribbons, as she replied, "Nuh-huh. He was scary, but sad, kinda. He never even talked to me, really. Just said that one of Daddy's friends would come and then I could go home. And, he cried a lot. He was real mad at someone."

"Aya," Yohji said softly.

The little girl looked toward Yohji when she heard his almost-whispered statement. Nodding her head again, she said, "Yeah. That was him. But, I don't know why. Mr. Aya seemed real nice to me."

Yohji, forgetting the touching reunion he had been watching, shoved Hank aside to kneel in front of the little girl. He grabbed her arms, forcing her to look into his eyes, as he said, an urgent tone to his voice, "Keiko, it's very, very important. Did you meet Mr. Aya?"

Keiko nodded. "Yeah. The kind of scary man; he brought him to where I was. Before Mr. Ken and Mr. Omi came."

Yohji looked up sharply at Ken and Omi, a question in his eyes.

In response, Omi shook his head. "There wasn't any sign of him at the house when we got there. There wasn't anyone there except Keiko. We checked the whole place. We didn't even know he was ever there. This is the first we've heard of it."

Hank knelt next to Yohji and gently pried the blonde's clenched fingers from around Keiko's arms, as he asked, "Sweetie, was Mr. Aya all right? Did he seem OK to you?"

She nodded. "He was sleeping, when the scary man first brought him. At first, the scary man said that I would be able to see Daddy because Mr. Aya came there with him. Then, later, after Mr. Aya kind of waked up, the scary man wanted to leave, and he was gonna make me go, too. But, Mr. Aya said he couldn't because they had a deal. I didn't really know, but the scary man seemed really mad or something. He grabbed Mr. Aya by the throat and lifted him right off the ground. It was real scary. I was real scared, and I started to cry, but Mr. Aya, he said it would be all right. He said they were just playing a game, and that nothing would happen to me if I was quiet and if I was a good girl. Then, Mr. Aya fell asleep again, and the scary man took him away. After that, Mr. Ken and Mr. Omi came to get me." She looked at Hank for a moment, and then asked, in a serious voice, "Daddy, is Mr. Aya your friend, too?"

Hank pulled the little girl toward him and hugged her tightly as he whispered, "Yes. Yes, Mr. Aya is Daddy's friend."

Ken checked his watch quickly before saying, "Look, I hate to break this up, but, Hank, you've only got two hours to make your flight. You need to leave now. Our cab is waiting for you." He fumbled through his coat pocket. "Here," he said, as he stuffed a fat envelope into Hank's hand, "your plane tickets, passports, and some seed money to help you get settled."

Hank stared at the three assassins. He couldn't believe his good fortune. He couldn't believe they would show him such kindness, even after he had betrayed Ran and allowed the redhead to fall into Schuldich's hands. He turned the envelope over in his hands and stared at it before finally stammering, "I I can't. I mean this it's it's too much, and I I don't deserve it. After everything I did "

"Stop," Yohji said, cutting Hank off in mid-sentence. He surprised Hank by coming over and putting his hand companionably on the man's shoulder as he continued, "Everyone deserves a fresh start. We'd all take one, if we could." He smiled and gently ruffled Keiko's hair. "Besides, it's what Aya would want us to do what he'd do if he was here."

Hank hastily wiped away tears that had gathered in his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't speak, but, finally, when he had managed to gain control of his voice, he choked out, "Thank thank you. I I can't ever thank you all for for everything you've done for me for us." He turned and, impulsively, hugged Ken, and then Omi. When he stood in front of Yohji, he hesitated for a moment and then pulled the startled blonde assassin into a bear hug. "Yohji," he whispered, "I I know we've had our differences, but thanks. For everything."

To Hank's surprise, Yohji hugged him back, after a moment of shocked astonishment. "Just hope I never show up on your doorstep," he whispered back.

Hank nodded his head, and swept Keiko into his arms. "Say bye to all the nice people, darlin'," he said.

Keiko laughed and waved.

"Go, already!" Ken snapped. "You're gonna miss your plane." He pointed toward the cab, which was barely visible in the distance, a yellow blob in the murky darkness and mist that swirled off the water. "Besides, that cab driver wasn't too crazy about waiting for you. If he leaves, you'll never find another one down here. It's paid for, too, all the way to the airport."

Hank swiped away some more tears, and turned away from them. When he was halfway to the cab, he turned back and waved one last time. Then, he ducked into the cab and it drove away, quickly disappearing from sight as the mist swallowed it. Ken, Omi, and Yohji watched it until even its red taillights had faded from view.

"So?" Yohji asked, looking at Ken and Omi.

"We got the meeting. With Crawford," Omi replied.

"Good," Yohji said, nodding his approval. He paused and fiddled absently with his jacket pocket until he pulled out a half-crushed cigarette package. He tapped the bottom of the pack to shake out one of the sticks, and hissed in irritation when he realized that it was empty. He shoved the empty pack back into his pocket, as he mumbled, "At least we know he Aya was alive two days ago."

"I don't think Schuldich will do him that quickly," Ken said, staring out at the water so that he didn't have to look either of his friends in the face. "After all, he wanted revenge, right?"

Yohji nodded as he, once again, took the cigarette package from his jacket pocket. His fingers moved with a life of their own, absently and completely divorced from his mind. Omi reached out and grabbed the crushed box. His warm, gloved fingers closed around Yohji's chilled ones and gently stilled the older man's slightly shaking hand.

"You OK?" the boy asked, frowning at the slightly vacant look he could see just behind Yohji's dark sunglass lenses.

Yohji nodded. "Yeah, why?"

"Because," Omi said, nodding his head to indicate the ground at Yohji's feet, which was littered with snubbed-out cigarette butts, "you've been chain smoking."

Yohji shrugged, and turned to head toward his motor boat, which would take him back to the yacht. Hank's friend had said he could continue to use the yacht for as long as he wanted. "I'll be all right," he said quietly, as he tried to shrug off Omi's hand. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He didn't want to leave them, and the thought of being on that boat --- alone and cut off from everyone and everything he cared about --- made his skin crawl. But, he had to do it, to protect them. "I've I've gotta go. Kritiker can't find you guys with me."

Omi refused to release Yohji's hand. "No," he stated in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, indicating he would brook no resistance or argument from the tall blonde. "You're not going alone. Either you come home with us, or we're going to that boat with you."

"No," Yohji snapped, "Out of the question. Aya didn't want you guys involved. I don't want you involved, and I hate like hell that I had to ask for what I did. I can't go back to the shop and keep looking for Aya. Even if Kritiker lets me back into the fold, they don't care one shit about Aya, and they won't allow me to expend any resources to find him. That's not acceptable. If you guys come with me, you're going to be too deeply involved. You won't be able to get out of this."

"Too bad," Ken said calmly, whirling Yohji around and steering him toward the motor boat moored at the end of the pier. "We're all family, right? Isn't that what you said? That means we're already involved." When Yohji started to protest, Ken slapped him lightly on the back of the head and snapped, "Besides, you look like walking shit. Without Aya around, who the hell is gonna take care of you? You obviously can't do it yourself. You don't even know how many cigarettes you smoked while you were waiting for us. And, when the hell did your hair get so damn long, anyhow? You forget how to get a damn haircut? Good grief! Let Aya go jaunting off for a few days, and look what happens. The whole fucking world falls apart."

Yohji knew the ex-goalie was straining to keep his voice light and his tone teasing. He knew Omi and Ken were just as worried about Aya as he was, and he really didn't want to go back to that boat alone. Even with Bubba there, it would be too quiet. He knew he'd spend the whole night drinking, smoking, and brooding, and, ultimately, that wouldn't do Aya any good. If Aya was here, he had a feeling the redhead would agree wholeheartedly with Ken and Omi's decision.

So, instead of arguing with his friends, which he knew would be pointless, Yohji whined, "But, Keeen! That's not fair. I think my hair's pretty this way. All the girls will love it, you know. In fact, I met this lovely young thing just a few days ago. Man, was she hot but completely legal. You know I don't go for underaged types"

"Oh, shut up!" Ken laughed. He pulled a fresh package of cigarettes out of his pocket and held them up in front of Yohji's face. He had to strain to reach around the tall blonde to do so, as he was walking behind Yohji, pushing the older man toward the motor boat.

"Oooh! Ciggies!" Yohji squealed, sounding every bit like an excited school girl.

He snatched the package from Ken's hand, and immediately tore it open. Bubba yapped excitedly as he jumped up onto Yohji's chest, in an attempt to grab the package from the blonde's hands. The dog didn't understand what was happening, of course, but he was excited over the sudden change in Yohji's previously somber personality, as well as over seeing Omi and Ken.

"These are not for dogs," Yohji said to Bubba as he struggled to keep the cigarettes out of the animal's reach.

****


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

'Damn, I feel like shit,' Aya thought as he came awake. He groaned and forced his eyes open, groaning again, in frustration this time, when all he saw was hard, cold, concrete floor that seemed to stretch out into eternity, punctuated only by towering, metal posts spaced every ten feet or so, pretty much as far as his eye could see. Aya twisted his head slightly, changing his point of view, and saw, in the distance, gray metal walls --- three of them --- which told him he must be lying close to the fourth one. He had been dumped, half on his side and half on his stomach, and he could feel the wall's cold metal cutting into his back. After a couple of moments, the concrete chilling his cheek started to make his headache worse, and Aya decided sitting up was probably preferable to his current position.

His hands were tied behind his back, but he managed to scoot closer to it and used it as leverage to push himself into a sitting position. As he moved, his metal and concrete world seemed to tilt and twist crazily, and he shut his eyes in an attempt to keep the dizziness under control. When he finally managed to sit up, leaning against the cold, metal wall, the view wasn't any better, but, at least he felt less dizzy. He found that the act of sitting up had taken way more effort than it should have, and it had cost him, in terms of energy. He rested for a few moments, head hung down against his chest and using all his strength to breathe, as he tried to recover from the effort.

From his new vantage point, Aya realized, for the first time, that he was in some kind of warehouse. He could see three of the building's metal walls, the iron posts supporting the roof, and the same, seemingly endless, concrete floor he'd already seen. There was a door in the wall directly in front of him, although some distance away, across most of the stretch of concrete floor. The door was small, in comparison to the rest of the room, and it was the only direct way in or out of the warehouse, as far as he could tell. He dismissed it almost immediately. He was certain it was locked from the outside, and dragging himself across the room to prove that theory would be nothing more than a futile effort and a waste of strength and energy he couldn't spare at the moment. The room was large and cavernous, and the smallest noises he made as he scraped against the cold metal of the wall behind him seemed to echo through the space, bouncing from wall to wall, until they seemed much louder than they actually were. It was fairly dark, although his eyes had adjusted quickly to the decreased lighting. He could see a few small windows high on the walls, close to the place where wall and ceiling met, and weak daylight slanted through them, making stripes of light in various places along the floor. Aya twisted around and squinted up at the window directly above him. Light came through it, too, falling in a beam in front of his face, but he wasn't able to tell what time of day it might be. He didn't have a clue as to how long he might have been here, but, after a few moments, he finally gave up trying to figure it out, dismissing the exercise as a futile waste of effort, much as trying the door would be. Sighing, he completed his quick survey of the room. There were, maybe, fifty or sixty large, wooden crates stacked along two walls of the warehouse, and, about halfway in between his current position and the door, there was a metal table with four straight-backed, metal chairs gathered around it. Otherwise, the cavernous room was empty.

Aya sighed and leaned back against the wall. He shivered slightly, and ruefully wished his captor had had the good grace to grab his coat at the same time he'd grabbed him. The room was cold, and he was wearing only a pair of jeans, boots, and a sweater he'd borrowed from Yohji. He'd lost quite a bit of weight during the past few months, so the sweater was a bit too big for him. It hung loosely off his body, but it did little to ward off the warehouse's damp chill, and he couldn't wrap his arms around himself for warmth, since they were tightly bound behind his back. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the shoulder of his sweater.

'Shit,' he thought, 'Why the fuck can't I ever wake up someplace nice?'

He halfway expected to hear the German's snide, sneering voice answering him, although he'd only thought the question. Schuldich's powers had gone completely bonkers --- terrifyingly strong one moment and nonexistent the next. Aya hadn't had enough strength to keep his mental barriers up for very long during the times the crazy Schwarz's telepathy was at its strongest, and, in the end, it had been easier to just let the German bastard have access to his thoughts. Aya hated the invasive feeling of the other man's presence in his mind, but, in a way, allowing Schuldich in had seemed smarter, too, since it had allowed him to conserve energy he would desperately need if he had any hope of surviving long enough to find a way out of this mess. He didn't have any idea how long he might be at the German's mercy, and he wanted to save all the strength he possibly could. Since he didn't hear Schuldich whispering in his mind, Aya figured he was probably alone here, and he was glad of it. He still had no idea how long he'd been with Schuldich, but he did know he'd been sick of the German's presence about a minute into their coffee shop meeting.

Aya closed his eyes and tried to piece together broken snatches of memory that seemed to float, disconnected, through his mind. He wasn't positive, but it felt like he'd been out of it for a while. He vaguely recalled meeting Schuldich in the coffee shop and then passing out from the drug with which the German had dosed him. After that, he didn't remember much of anything. He had a fuzzy recollection of briefly waking in a place he'd recognized as a Kritiker safe house, and he remembered seeing the little girl, Keiko, there. He recalled fighting briefly with Schuldich over the German's decision to keep the girl instead of returning her, Schuldich choking him unconscious again, and then, nothing else. Aya hoped Schuldich had kept his word and returned the girl. If so, he thought Keiko was probably safely with Hank by now, which made him glad. He knew Yohji would make sure Hank and Keiko got out of Japan safely. Even if that was all they accomplished with this stupid, little scheme, Aya knew it'd be enough. He would face his death happily, just as long as he knew Keiko and the rest of his team were safe.

The door opened with the loud, screeching noise of metal scraping against concrete. It echoed off the walls around him. Aya didn't bother looking up. The smooth, silky, sneering voice that immediately entered his mind, probing his thoughts, told him Schuldich had arrived. Aya stared at the ground directly in front of him, listening to the German's footsteps echoing across the concrete floor and Schuldich's maddened whispers echoing through his mind. Somehow, the hollow noise of the echoing footsteps seemed to magnify the chill in the warehouse, and it seemed to seep into Aya's very soul, filling him with a hopelessness he felt in the very depths of his being and draining him of the will to live. He struggled to erase the helplessness, hopelessness, and despair from his mind. There wasn't any point in giving Schuldich ammunition so easily. Schuldich might very well destroy him, but, if that was the case, the asshole was damn well going to have to work for it. As far as rebellions go, it was a pretty small, pathetic one, but it was all Aya had at the moment.

Aya continued to stare at the floor as Schuldich approached him and pulled one of the chairs away from the table. The sound of metal grating against concrete ran up Aya's spine and started chewing through his already-frazzled nerves, and the invasive mental probing, which grew stronger as Schuldich approached, intensified the feeling. He finally looked up from the floor, rolling his head slightly from side-to-side in an effort to ease cold-numbed, cramped neck muscles. As he watched, a pair of dirty, white canvas loafers came into view, followed by the bottoms and, then, the legs of the stained, grimy khaki pants Schuldich had been wearing at their meeting. Aya dully wondered if he had met with the German only that day, although the aches and pains screaming at him from every cold-stiffened joint in his body certainly argued against a short captivity. Aya continued to stare straight ahead as Schuldich settled himself comfortably in the little, metal chair. Eventually, the greasy, grime-encrusted, blue linen shirt came into view, followed shortly by Schuldich's face and those exhausted, lost, crazy eyes with the dark circles surrounding them.

As their gazes finally met and then locked, Schuldich's mouth curled into a delighted, predatory grin that seemed to curve from one ear to the other, but, yet, never quite reached his eyes. Brown-gold eyes, dazed from lack of sleep and glittering with a myriad of nasty emotions, bore into exhausted blue-violet ones, until Aya finally broke the deadlock by looking away, back to the floor.

Schuldich laughed, a crazed, brittle sound that seemed to hit the metal walls around them and shatter like breaking glass. The German took out a package of cigarettes, and Aya heard the cellophane wrapping on the little box rattling as he pulled out one of the sticks. Rattling cellophane was followed, almost immediately, by the sound of a lighter clicking to life, and, then, a gratified sigh as Schuldich took a long drag, held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, and then let it out in one long, sighing breath. 

"So?" Schuldich commented, in a soft, slightly lilting, slightly teasing voice, while nudging Aya, none too gently, with his foot, "Awake, Precious?"

Schuldich paused, as if he was waiting for Aya to respond. But, when the redhead remained silent, he continued, in the same, condescending, sneering tone of voice, "So, now that you're here, I'm having a hard time deciding exactly what to do with you. What kind of game would you like to play, Precious? We have all the time in the world, you know. They're never coming for you. Kritiker's turned against you. You're out of Weiss. You don't have anywhere left to go, and no one left to care what happens to you. You're all alone, Precious. Just like me --- destroyed, humiliated, beaten down, a shell of a man just the way you left me, Precious."

Schuldich's condescending tone and smug words picked and pulled at Aya's already-frayed nerves. Worse yet, the redhead could feel an air of contentment and satisfaction radiating off of the man. It practically rolled off of the German in waves, making Aya want to throw up, although he didn't have anything in his stomach to release. He fought back the feelings of hatred he felt welling up inside him at Schuldich's words, and desperately choked down thoughts of lunging to his feet to deliver a well-placed head butt that would wipe the smug grin off of the German's face. Aya carefully gathered control of his emotions, and, instead of attacking physically, which would have been pointless, considering he was bound and not in the best of health, decided to play along with Schuldich's little game.

Aya cleared his throat and asked, his voice hoarse and choked, "So, Schu? Who was he?"

"I I don't know what you mean," Schuldich stammered, frowning at the nickname Aya used. He was caught off guard by the question, but he quickly recovered his composure and snarled, "I don't have any idea who you're talking about."

Aya was still looking at the floor, and his face was hidden by the hair that fell across it, which meant Schuldich couldn't see the little smile that crossed his lips. Schuldich had been inside his head from the moment he'd walked through the door, and he should have known what Aya was thinking almost before the redhead did. But, Aya was startled to realize he didn't feel any hint of the German's hated presence inside his mind; he hadn't heard Schuldich's maddened whispers for several minutes now. He had seen how strong rage had made Schuldich's powers; he had witnessed it first-hand during their meeting in the coffee shop. But, it seemed that rage's gift of razor-sharp mental powers carried a corresponding price tag in terms of reliability and control. From what Aya had seen, Schuldich currently didn't have any control over his powers. In every encounter he'd ever had with Schuldich, the German had been self-possessed, smug, and totally in control, but, this time, he'd managed to break that smug veneer, even if it was only for a second. When he added that to the fact that Schuldich's powers seemed to be warping in and out of control, freakishly strong one moment, almost non-existent the next, Aya started to think, for the first time, that he just might be able to work his way out of this mess.

Aya carefully collected his thoughts and reined in his emotions, forcing his mind and expression completely blank, before he looked up again to face Schuldich's eyes.

"Come on, Schu," he purred, adopting the German's favored tone of voice --- silky-smooth, sickly sweet, condescending, "We don't have any secrets between us not you and me, now do we? I've let you in my head; you've shared your thoughts and feelings your rage, your despair, your loneliness with me. We both know who I'm talking about. I saw him. When you attacked me in the flower shop I saw him in your thoughts, and I remember him. That blonde son-of-a-bitch died on my blade, not even six months ago. So, who was he?"

Schuldich lost any semblance of self-control at Aya's words. His face contorted with rage, and he leapt from his chair, crossing the small space separating them in an instant. He grabbed a handful of Aya's hair and yanked the redhead forward, smiling at the pained hiss that escaped Aya's lips.

He continued to pull the redhead forward, until his lips just brushed Aya's ear, and whispered, his voice shaking with uncontrolled rage, "He Sergei was my lover, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!"

Aya caught a brief glimpse of hard, glittering, more-than-slightly-crazy brown-gold eyes, which told him he'd scored a direct hit against the German, before he felt Schuldich's fist smash painfully against the side of his head, snapping it sharply to one side. It felt like the whole world exploded into small, little pinpoints of light that hung in front of his eyes and then morphed into huge, colorful bursts. It was so bright that he wanted to crawl into a dark place to hide, except there wasn't anywhere he could go to escape them. He couldn't get away from the lights, colors, and pain, because they were in his head. Aya slumped back slightly, dazed from the force of the blow. Schuldich still had one hand entwined in the redhead's hair, and Aya hung limply in the German's grip.

Schuldich angrily tossed Aya aside. With his hands tied behind his back, Aya wasn't able to do anything to break his fall, and he slammed heavily into the wall behind him, making a dull, thudding sound, before he slid limply to the floor. Schuldich glared at his captive.

The German held his shaking hands out in front of him and stared at them, as if he couldn't figure out whose they were. Schuldich finally clenched his hands into fists, pressing his fingers into his palms hard enough to make them bleed, only to unclench them and, then, repeat the entire process. After a few moments, he managed to bring his emotions under control enough to still his shaking hands. Once he had regained his composure, he fished out another cigarette and lit it. His little act would have been completely successful, if he hadn't had to try three times before he got the lighter to start. He laughed giddily, a crazy, unnerving sound that echoed and reverberated off the hard, cold walls and floor, as he puffed at the cigarette. It finally flamed to life, and he snapped the lighter shut with a decisive click. He leaned back, tipping his chair up on its two back legs, and slammed the lighter down onto the table.

Schuldich took three long drags from the cigarette, tilting his head upward and blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. It hung in the cold, damp air like a cloud of smog for a few moments, finally dissipating as the German once again fixed his eyes on Aya. The swordsman hadn't moved since being released from Schuldich's grip. He laid, partially on his side, his back against the cold, metal wall behind him, panting. It took all his energy to simply breathe. Schuldich kicked Aya in the ribs, hard enough that he heard bone cracking, eliciting a groan of pain from the redhead. The German laughed softly and kicked Aya once more, before leaning back in his chair. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and flicked ashes onto the floor. Some of them landed on Aya and immediately began to singe through his sweater. Schuldich watched in fascination as little streams of smoke floated into the air from the holes burning into the sweater's material, and, then, into Aya's skin. Despite the obvious pain, the redhead didn't make a move to unsettle the burning embers.

Schuldich laughed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as he whispered, "You know, Precious, I had been thinking of what to do with you, of how I'd make you suffer, of how I'd break you --- mind, body, and soul. I dreamed of getting my hands on you, wringing the life out of you slowly, watching it bleed away, drop by precious drop. But, now, I don't know. I think that would leave me feeling somehow unfulfilled." He paused and flicked more ashes toward Aya's body before continuing, "Besides, killing you in the condition you're in now it would be too easy. No pleasure in it, you know?"

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, and took a few drags off his cigarette before dropping it to the floor. He stood, quickly crushing the smoldering ember under the heel of his shoe, and walked the two steps needed to stand next to Aya. He nudged the swordsman's head up using the toe of his shoe, and smiled down at his half-conscious enemy.

"Now, I've decided, Precious. I'll make you suffer like I did by watching the rest of the kitties die when they come to get you. I think that's the fairest thing to do. I lost what I cared for you'll lose everything you care for."

Aya tried, unsuccessfully, to shrug his head away from Schuldich's foot, as he muttered, "I'm not Weiss anymore. They won't come. Even you said it."

Schuldich dropped Aya's head roughly to the floor. Aya didn't even try to hold it up, and Schuldich smiled as his captive's head bounced off of the concrete floor. As he turned to walk out of the warehouse, he said, in a voice that was just loud enough to carry to Aya, "Oh, they'll come. Kritiker doesn't decide who is Weiss. Weiss decides who is Weiss, and you know it. I feel your fear for them. That tells me they will come."

Without another word, Schuldich walked away. Aya lay still, breathing heavily, and counting the new aches and pains exploding all over his body, as he listened to the German's footsteps echoing away from him. The hollow, empty sound receded across the cold, hard floor, until, finally, he heard the protesting screech of metal against concrete as the warehouse door slammed closed.

'They won't come,' Aya thought, struggling to breathe through the spasms of pain wracking his body.

He briefly attempted to turn over onto his back, but, finally gave up and remained, lying face-down on the cold floor. He didn't want them to come. He didn't want his friends to be in danger because of him, but Schuldich had touched a fear that lay so deeply within him Aya hadn't even realized it was there. And, the crazy German bastard was right. That deep-seated fear told him, unmistakably, that they would come. At the very least, Yohji would come, and, perhaps, that was the worst possibility of all. He hadn't realized just how much Yohji meant to him, how much he had come to rely on the older man, but the thought of the tall blonde at Schuldich's mercy was enough to turn Aya's stomach.

'Yohji, you'd better not come,' he thought, briefly, before he gave in and let darkness overtake him.

****


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Yohji entered the Kitty's Cup, pulling the door closed behind him with a clang of the bells attached to it. The warmth of the shop was a welcome relief from the chilly, damp wind outside, and the homey smells of roasting coffee and sizzling eggs and bacon that greeted him seemed to warm him from the inside, as well. He paused in the doorway for a moment, drinking in the smells and scanning the store's interior. The shop had only been open for about twenty minutes, so it wasn't very crowded. It didn't take long for Yohji to spot Bradley Crawford seated at the dark booth in the very back of the shop, the same booth from which Aya had disappeared what seemed like an eternity ago.

The tall blonde was still surprised at how quickly the past several days had flown by. Omi and Ken had, true to their word, accompanied him to the yacht. They had stayed with him up until this morning, when he had finally insisted they leave to return to the Koneko and Kritiker's fold before they risked being hunted, too. He didn't want to admit it, but he had been terribly grateful for their company. Omi had spent the last several days attempting to track Schuldich down through the computer, in the hopes of avoiding this meeting with Crawford, while he and Ken had followed up on various leads in town. Unfortunately, nothing solid had panned out, and, when it became obvious to Yohji that this game was far from over, and that he'd have to go through with the scheduled meeting, he had insisted his two younger teammates return home. He had already involved them much further than he had ever wanted to, but he thought Kritiker would probably cut them some slack for their unexplained absence. Considering that their team had, only recently, been slashed in half by circumstances beyond their control, Yohji figured Manx and Persia probably expected Ken and Omi to go a little off the deep end. He was counting on that, at any rate. When he got Aya back, he didn't want to have to explain to the redhead that Ken and Omi were now on the run with them, too. He knew it would make the swordsman furious, and, for his part, Yohji didn't want to face his friend's wrath. Aya could be pretty darn scary when he was really angry.

Yohji frowned briefly as he watched Crawford calmly reading his paper. He couldn't help but wonder if the man had intentionally chosen to sit in that particular booth, knowing it was the one where Aya and Schuldich had had their last meeting. Probably. After all, Crawford was Schwarz, and a precog, to boot, all of which added up to make him one of the craziest, most off-balance mother fuckers Yohji had ever met. Out of all of Schwarz, Crawford seemed the most "normal", from the outside looking in. But, during Weiss' association with Schwarz, Yohji had quickly decided the semblance of "normality" probably made Crawford the most dangerous out of all the Schwarz operatives. You were so busy looking out for the crazy Irish fucker or the sneering German bastard that you never noticed the "normal" American until Crawford was twisting the knife in your heart. Crawford might not, necessarily, be an enemy at all times, depending on where his own interests lay, but he was definitely not someone to ever consider an ally. Yohji just hoped his interests and Crawford's were, in this one thing, aligned enough that he could trust the man to lead him to Schuldich, and, hopefully, Aya. He knew he couldn't hope to get more than that from the man, and he didn't expect it. If Crawford's information, or visions, or whatever the hell they were, led him to Aya, it would be enough.

He crossed the floor slowly, shedding his coat as he walked. As he passed in front of the counter, he waved and shot a charming, crooked, boyish smile at the dark-haired, dark-eyed waitress who had so captivated him on his previous visit.

'What was her name, again?' he wondered, 'Oh, yeah, Kat something.'

It didn't matter what the girl's name was. In his mind, she would always be "Lola" --- his little Lola of the whipped cream. Yohji smiled again, a small, half-grin to go along with the wanting and lust he knew shone from his eyes, as he, once again, thought of that girl, naked and covered with whipped cream or chocolate sauce or anything, for that matter --- just so long as it allowed him to run his tongue all over her perfect, firm body. Yohji sighed and chased the unbidden thoughts from his mind, using almost all the self-restraint he had. He didn't have time to pursue it now, but he fervently hoped that, once all this mess with Aya had settled down, she would call him, or he would find some other way to get her to warm his bed, at least for a few nights.

His mind still absently toying with thoughts of the lovely, young waitress, Yohji slid into the booth across from Brad Crawford, tossing his jacket to one side as he sat. Crawford was dressed in a dark, gray flannel business suit with a blue, linen shirt underneath, and a dark blue tie. Although he never looked up at the arrival of his companion, he shifted slightly as Yohji sat down, affording the tall blonde a glimpse of the dark-colored, patterned vest, gold pocket watch, and automatic pistol which the American wore under his suit coat. There was a matching, gray flannel overcoat hanging neatly on the hook at the end of the booth. Although he couldn't see them, Yohji was certain Crawford was wearing shiny, black lace-up wing tips and matching, dark grey socks.

Yohji couldn't suppress a smile as he thought of the contrasting picture he and Crawford must paint --- one man spotlessly, impeccably dressed in a beautiful, three-piece business suit and matching shoes, his dark hair slicked back neatly from his face, the other one wearing wrinkled jeans he'd had on for the last five days, an equally-wrinkled, slightly torn, slightly stained, cream-colored sweater, and heavy, scuffed, leather boots, his tangled hair drawn into a low, messy ponytail at the nape of his neck. Yohji figured anyone who saw them meeting would probably think he was Crawford's drug connection or something like that. He didn't know why, but the thought of the up-tight, always-in-control Schwarz leader using drugs struck him as incredibly funny, probably because it was just so damn improbable. 

He hadn't ever seen or encountered Crawford when the man wasn't impeccably, neatly dressed, and, in fact, Yohji had long entertained the notion that the man was a dyed-in-the-wool neat freak, a factor, which, in his mind, signaled just how mentally unstable the American Schwarz operative was. For his part, Yohji had always been a leave-your-clothes-where-they-land kind of guy, so Brad Crawford's apparently super-neatnik tendencies struck him, not as odd, but as downright sick. Sure, they all teased Aya about being a neat freak, because the redhead was constantly picking up after them in the apartment, re-organizing the shop, or something like that. But, with Aya, it seemed more like a coping mechanism --- a way to assert control over a life that, too often, seemed to tilt crazily and completely out of control and run along on its own whim or the whims of others who treated you like nothing more than a pawn in their game. If Aya had been like Crawford, Yohji knew he would have killed the redhead a long time ago --- or Omi or Ken would have. Nope, there wasn't any comparison between the two. Aya was just super-organized. Crawford was sick. That was all there was to it.

Thoughts of his missing friend seemed to draw Yohji from his reverie, and he looked up, wondering exactly how he had managed to go down the mental rabbit trail of comparing Aya and Crawford, to find the American looking at him over the edge of his paper. Dark blue eyes bored into jade green ones for a long, silent moment, as if Crawford was searching for some kind of revelation or universal truth. It was enough to make Yohji squirm, at which point Crawford smirked, as if that was the reaction he had been waiting for from the tall blonde, all along. Yohji couldn't suppress a sudden flash of hatred and rage at the sight of Crawford's smug, little smirk. For about the millionth time since he had contacted the American, he thought that he probably was making the biggest mistake of his life --- and, possibly, Aya's, too --- by meeting with this man.

"Pretty girl," Crawford commented, as he folded his newspaper, revealing, for the first time, the half-full coffee cup it had previously hidden.

"Yeah," Yohji replied. He watched Crawford fold the paper in half, once, and then, in half again. "Don't suppose you've seen any visions involving say me and her? Or, if you had, don't suppose you'd like to share you know, man-to-man? Help out a fellow guy and all?"

Crawford sighed as he placed the paper onto the table in front of his coffee cup. He started to pick up the cup, but, noticing that the paper was crooked, he frowned and, instead, straightened it out, squinting slightly in an effort to assure it was perfectly, symmetrically aligned with the edge of the table and the cup's saucer. Once that was done, he reached again for the cup, slowly raising it to his lips to take a quiet sip.

"I'm sure all will reveal itself in due time," he said, replacing the cup on its saucer with a small clink of china hitting against china.

He stared, silently, at the table top in between his paper and Yohji's hands for several seconds before running his hand through slicked-back dark hair, which, despite the sudden attention, remained, as always, perfectly in place. Then, he squirmed around briefly on the bench before reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve two items: a small cloth and a photograph. He tossed the photograph onto the table, next to Yohji's hand. Then, he removed his glasses, and began to clean them with the cloth.

"I want to make clear, straight away, that taking Fujimiya wasn't my idea. I wasn't behind it, and it didn't have anything to do with Schwarz," Crawford commented, without looking at Yohji. He never looked away from his glasses, which he continued to rub with the cloth, despite the fact that they were already spotless.

"So? Then why didn't you stop it?" Yohji asked, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

Crawford sighed again, and, finally looked at Yohji. The tall blonde was surprised to see something that seemed, almost, to resemble regret or sorrow float across the man's eyes for an instant. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the emotion was gone.

"I tried," he said, looking steadily at Yohji with dark blue eyes that no longer betrayed any emotion. "But, as you can see, I wasn't able to convince Schuldich to give up this foolish plan of his."

"But, you're the leader," Yohji insisted. "You should have done something to stop him."

"But you're the leader," Crawford parroted back in a whining-mocking tone, a scowl on his face. "That's funny, really funny. I've always figured that Fujimiya, and, maybe, that Tsukiyono kid were the only real brains in your outfit, but are you really that dense? In case you haven't figured it out, Sherlock, Schwarz doesn't exactly operate the same way Weiss does. I'm not the leader of anything, other than, perhaps, a flea circus full of madmen that, occasionally, resembles an assassin troupe. You people in Weiss have, somehow, come to regard each other as a sort of make-shift family or something. It's pathetic, and it's why we all hate you. Maybe it's jealousy because you people, somehow, manage to cling to your humanity by clinging to each other, despite the fact that you kill, just as we do. I don't know. At any rate, Schwarz isn't like that. We're just a bunch of people thrown together by some crazy, outside organization. We don't even like each other. Only the fear of the organization's retaliation keeps us from killing each other off. So, the idea that I could talk Schuldich out of anything he wanted to do, or prevent him from doing anything he wanted to do, short of appealing to his own self interest, is ludicrous. And, in this instance, I wasn't able to convince him that taking Fujimiya was not in his best interests. He's a little off balance lately." Crawford paused, as if thinking over what he had just said, and added, "Well, more off balance than normal, that is."

When it became obvious that Yohji was at a loss for words, Crawford nodded toward the photograph he'd tossed across the table. He took a sip of coffee, and asked, around the cup, "Recognize him?"

Yohji picked up the picture. It showed a tall man in a gray business suit, much like the one Crawford was wearing today, black shoes, and black leather gloves. The man, who seemed around Yohji's age, had bleached-blonde hair cropped in a buzz cut. Yohji couldn't see his eyes, because he was wearing sunglasses, but he was brandishing a semi-automatic rifle in one hand, making a peace sign with the other, and smiling at the camera. Yohji still didn't recognize him, but he knew it was one of the men Aya had killed during that mission, several months ago, when they had infiltrated and broken up a gambling and white slavery ring. He knew it was the same man Aya had seen in Schuldich's thoughts when the German had attacked him at the Koneko. With a shaking hand, Yohji flipped the photograph over to read the inscription on the back: _"To My Schu: Bad Ass forever. Love, Sergei"._

Yohji's eyes narrowed at the inscription. He remembered what Aya had told him about Schuldich being crazed with some kind of strong emotion, like rage or grief. Now, looking at the photograph of the man Aya had killed and reading the inscription on the back of the picture, Yohji's mind was finally putting two and two together to come up with four. Everything was finally starting to fall into place, and, in a crazy, out-of-kilter way, it all made sense.

"Yeah," Yohji replied, sliding the photo back across the table to Crawford. "Aya Aya killed him, like, seven, eight months ago, I think. Who is was he?"

Crawford stopped the photograph's crazy slide by placing his hand, flat, palm-down, on top of it just before it fell off the side of the table. He glanced at the picture briefly, before replacing it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Before answering Yohji's question, Crawford signaled the waitress for a refill on his coffee. He and Yohji sat, silently staring at each other, as she came over and re-filled his cup.

"You want anything?" she asked Yohji as she paused, uncertainly near the table.

He shook his head. She shrugged and walked back to the front counter.

"Sergei," Crawford said, as he added cream and sugar to his coffee and stirred it, almost absent-mindedly. The clinking sound of the spoon hitting against the cup's side seemed almost deafeningly loud in the sudden, heavy hush that had descended over their table. When Crawford continued, the sudden intrusion of his voice into that little, silent space almost made Yohji jump.

"He was one of Schwarz's operatives, from Russia. He and Schuldich were close were lovers," Crawford continued, seemingly uncomfortable at having to explain the German's sexual preferences.

"I never realized Schuldich was," Yohji began.

"He's not," Crawford said, cutting Yohji off before he could finish his sentence, "At least, not really." The American sighed and continued, "It's a little hard to explain, but suffice to say that Schuldich isn't strictly gay or strictly straight, at least not by conventional definitions. Schuldich likes whatever is pretty, whether it's man, woman boy girl whatever." Crawford's face was turning a warm shade of pink, and he nervously ran his finger under the buttoned collar of his shirt and loosened his tie before he said, "Anyhow, you get the picture. For whatever reason, Schuldich thought Sergei was pretty, and he enticed the man into being his lover. At any rate, they I don't know connected on some, much deeper level, which is unusual for Schuldich, apparently. When Sergei was killed, Schuldich slowly started to go crazy, until he became totally, completely fixated on getting revenge against Fujimiya for Sergei's death. His telepathic abilities have, also gone slightly out of whack, maybe because he's so fixated on getting revenge, maybe because he was devastated by the loss who knows. Suffice to say, he's extremely mentally unstable right now and extremely dangerous."

Yohji stared at Crawford, unsure for a moment of what he should say or how he should respond to the American's revelations. For his part, Yohji didn't really care whether Schuldich was straight, gay, bi, or whatever. The tall blonde had decided, quite a while back, that he was perfectly, gloriously straight, but, being the adventurous sort that he was, he had experimented a bit with "alternative relationships" before coming to that conclusion. Consequently, Yohji didn't really care about or take the time to dwell on other people's sexual preferences, but it was obvious Crawford was very, very uncomfortable with Schuldich's lifestyle choice, as evidenced by the man's bright pink face and nervous gestures during his explanation of Sergei's identity. Once he stopped to think about it, though, Yohji figured Crawford probably didn't particularly care that Schuldich had been involved in a gay relationship. The American was so up-tight that it was probably the idea of sex, period, that made him nervous and uncomfortable, no matter if it was straight or not. If the situation and subject matter of what they were discussing hadn't been so deadly serious, Yohji would have taken great pleasure in watching Crawford squirm around nervously, and the American's discomfort would have, probably, even solicited a laugh. As it was, though, Crawford's words only heightened Yohji's fear for Aya's safety. Schuldich had always been unstable, at best, but, if the German really had gone off the deep end, it seemed his chances of getting Aya back in one piece were getting slimmer by the minute.

"With all that said," Crawford said, finally managing to bring his embarrassment under control, as he broke into Yohji's thoughts, "I'm not particularly interested in helping you recover Fujimiya."

"Dammit!" Yohji hissed, slapping the table, hard, with his palm. It stung, but he ignored it. "Why the hell did you agree to this fucking meeting, then, you arrogant prick?"

"Don't misunderstand me," Crawford said, calmly, unfazed by Yohji's sudden outburst. "Just because I don't care what happens to Fujimiya doesn't mean we don't have a common interest." He pushed his glasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose as he continued, "You want your precious leader back. I want to retrieve my property. Thus, I believe we can work together."

"Retrieve your property?" Yohji asked, not sure he understood what Crawford meant by those words.

"Yes," the American replied calmly, as he took another sip from his coffee cup. "My property Schuldich. He's gone rogue, you see. I can't get him to come in, and I need him back so that we can go through the process of how shall I say it? reconditioning him. I don't like the man, but he is a member of Schwarz, and, as an assassin, he's too valuable a commodity to leave out on the streets, unmonitored. He's dangerous, to himself and the public, in general, in the state he's in now, but, I think he's still too valuable to just dispose of. With the proper reconditioning, I believe we can still use him in Schwarz."

"Look," Yohji said, shaking his head. He didn't know why, but he was surprised at the callous, cold way Crawford spoke about his teammate. It was as if Schuldich was a dog, or even less, to the American. "I don't have any plans of turning Schuldich over to you, even if you help me get Aya back. I'd like to kill him, for what he's done, but, realistically, I have to give him to Kritiker, in exchange for letting Aya and, I guess me back into Weiss. Otherwise, we'll have to run from them for the rest of our lives, and I, for one, don't want to live like that. It is one of the few scenarios for my life that actually seems worse than the nightmare I live in now."

Crawford shrugged. "I don't have any problems with that. I never expected you to cooperate to the extent you'd just give Schuldich back to me. But, if he's in Kritiker's hands, it's easier for me to retrieve him. Saves me the effort of having to hunt him down and capture him myself."

Now it was Yohji's turn to shrug. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't understand Crawford or figure out the man's motives. This one time, though, he told himself not to question it too much. It seemed, at least for the immediate future, that Crawford felt their interests aligned, which would, probably, be enough to get Yohji what he wanted, which was Aya. The tall blonde had to admit that, once Aya was safe and back in Weiss, he didn't really care what happened to Schuldich, and, for all he was concerned, Kritiker could go fuck itself. So, if Schwarz breached Kritiker's security and managed to retake Schuldich, it really wasn't any of Yohji's concern.

"OK," Yohji said, shaking his head slightly. "You know where he is?"

"I have an idea as to where he's hiding," Crawford said, hesitantly. He pulled a piece of paper from his inner pocket and handed it across the table to Yohji.

The tall blonde took the offered address and looked down at it, recognizing it as belonging to a deserted building in the warehouse district. He stood, shrugging into his coat, and said, "All right. Thanks."

As he started to leave, he paused. Something in Crawford's tone of voice made him uneasy, causing him to hesitate before walking away. He turned back toward the table and asked, holding up the address Crawford had given him, "You've seen something? Something about this?"

Crawford sighed, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, before he finally answered, "Just be careful, Kudou. This may not it may not have the outcome you're expecting."

Yohji's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he stared at Crawford, trying to read the man. Finally, he gave up and asked, "What what did you see? My death?"

Crawford shook his head, no.

"Schuldich's death?" Yohji persisted.

Again, another negative head shake from the American.

Yohji's voice was shaking, and a feeling of dread filled him. His stomach flip-flopped like a dying fish as he asked, "Aya's?"

"It's only one possibility," Crawford said, softly. "The future doesn't work like that it's not set, but " His voice trailed off, and he stared at the table top in front of him, obviously uncomfortable with this conversation, and, apparently, unsure why he had even taken the trouble to warn Yohji of the possible dangers and the undesirable future he'd foreseen. He had always had a certain amount of respect for Weiss' leader, so, maybe, it was because of that. Or, maybe, it was because Fujimiya seemed to be the glue that held Weiss together, and, no matter how much Crawford hated and envied them for their familial-type relationship, the fact that these four men could maintain their humanity in a completely inhumane business held out hope that, one day, he, too, could be human again. Whatever the reason, he felt the need to tell Kudou what he had seen, and Brad Crawford was not one to take these kinds of feelings lightly. He always followed his instinct, no matter where it might lead him.

"Did you see any other possibilities?" Yohji asked, hesitantly. His voice was shaking slightly, and Crawford could tell the tall blonde was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Crawford looked down at the table, and said, his voice barely audible, "No."

****


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Aya awoke slowly, to the feeling of someone gently running their fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember exactly where he was, or how long he'd been here, but, although this place felt unfamiliar and strange, he didn't believe he was in danger. He felt safe, warm, and protected. He forced his eyes open, fighting through the muzzy, light-headed feeling that threatened to consume him. It would be so much easier to give in to that feeling, to go back to sleep, instead of opening his eyes and facing whatever reality might be waiting for him. He was vaguely, dimly aware of aches and pains running throughout his body: the wounds on his back, which had become infected and re-opened so many times they hadn't had any chance to heal; the gunshot wound he had received in his escape from Kritiker, which still felt like it had only happened yesterday; the injuries he'd received in this latest set-to with Schuldich. He wasn't positive, but it felt like there were some broken bones --- ribs, almost certainly, and, maybe, a collarbone, and dislocated shoulder. All in all, his body was one, sore, festering, throbbing ache --- all the more reason to retreat back into the safety of knowing and feeling nothing, which the blackness offered him.

So much had happened in the past few weeks, and his memories tumbled over each other. They spun around in his mind, until everything ran together to create one long, unbroken string, and he wasn't able to separate one event from another. But, no matter how faulty his memory might be, no matter how muddled his thoughts, he knew for sure he wasn't at home, and, if he wasn't in familiar surroundings, the feelings of safety and protection had to be illusions. His mind, fuzzy as it was, told him that with enough clarity to make him realize he had to open his eyes, no matter how much he wanted to retreat.

He forced himself to the surface of consciousness, forced his eyes to open, only to see a hazy shape leaning over him. Aya expected it to be Yohji. He wasn't sure, but it seemed, somehow, that things had been that way for some time now --- he would wake up in some strange place to see the tall blonde leaning over him, peering down at him with green eyes camouflaged behind dark sunglasses that, even so, couldn't hide the worry and fear. Somehow, it seemed right, things being that way. It was status quo the way the world should be. He had told himself he didn't want anyone to come. He had told himself that, especially, he didn't want Yohji to come for him. But, inside, he had continued to hope. He hated himself for it, but he had continued to hope Yohji would come, because Yohji was his friend, the one person in the world on whom he believed he could count. On some level, he knew the rest of the team would be there for him, too. Somehow, he had always known it, even if he didn't want to. But, when everything in his life turned to shit, Yohji was the one who picked up the pieces. Yohji was the one who was always there. Yohji was the one who made everything all right, the one who made him feel safe, no matter how badly things were going. Aya struggled to focus, until, finally, as expected, a pair of eyes swam into view --- not familiar, jade green ones, but hard, crazed, rage-filled golden-brown eyes the eyes of an enemy, not a trusted friend. 

"About time for you to wake up, Precious."

The sneering, condescending voice, with just a hint of German accent, shocked Aya awake. The fuzzy bits of memory fell decisively, irrevocably, into place in his mind, and the sinking feeling of despair settled into his soul as he remembered where he was. The hatred and rage he heard in Schuldich's voice, so contradictory to the gentle stroking of his hair and the feeling of safety and protection enveloping him, caused fear to surge through him. He tried to fight it back, but it overtook his mind with enough strength that he attempted to jerk into an upright position, only to fall back into Schuldich's supporting arms as a wave of dizziness overtook him. Suddenly, he knew, beyond a doubt, that he wasn't safe. He remembered now. He was in a cold, drafty warehouse, concrete and metal as far as the eye could see. He could hear the wind creaking and pushing as it rattled and shook at the metal walls around him, and, each day, Schuldich would come here to taunt him and probe his mind, seeking any possible feelings of loneliness, fear, or despair. The German seemed to feed off of it. At first, Aya had been able to fight Schuldich off, but, in recent days, it had become more and more difficult. Aya knew he was breaking.

He didn't remember how long he had been here. Maybe forever but, in the end, it didn't even matter. All that mattered was that he was here. He was Schuldich's prisoner. He was at the crazy German's mercy. As always, Aya fought against the fear, despair, and hopelessness welling up inside of him. He didn't want to give Schuldich any footholds over him, but, this time he couldn't stop it. He couldn't hold the emotions back any longer. He was alone. He was exhausted. He was hurting. He was scared. And, try as he might, he couldn't hide those feelings; he couldn't choke them down, even though he desperately wanted to. Instead, he gave in to them, letting them wash over him like the ocean tide, until he felt as if he was drowning. He knew Schuldich could feel the emotions that crashed around his mind. The German could hear them just as easily as if he was talking to someone over a phone. But, he didn't care. He was just too tired to care any longer.

"It's all right, Precious," Schuldich soothed, "Just give in. Give in to the despair and fear."

As dizziness overcame him, forcing him to fall back into Schuldich's embrace, the German's arms tightened around him. He tried to pull away, but he couldn't escape as Schuldich pulled him close.

"It'll all be over soon, Precious. I know you're feeling abandoned right now, but they're coming for you. Maybe not all of them, but the golden kitty is coming. I can feel it. Soon, very soon," Schuldich whispered. He leaned close to Aya, allowing his lips to linger at the edge of the redhead's ear. "Perhaps, when this is over, and your little playmate is dead when you have nothing left to live for maybe, then, I'll just keep you for myself. You're really pretty Precious, especially when you're like this when you're helpless and full of despair. So very, very pretty."

Aya didn't bother responding. At the moment, he was too weak and tired to defend himself. Schuldich had already camped out in his head, so it didn't matter, anyhow. The German was irrevocably ensconced there, and, even if Yohji was coming, as the crazy bastard said, even if the blonde, somehow, managed a rescue, Aya knew he'd continue hearing Schuldich's voice whispering in his mind, telling him everything was hopeless, telling him he'd never escape, telling him he was the German's possession. He'd hear that voice for the rest of his life, in every sleeping or waking moment he had. Schuldich smiled as he felt the redhead finally give in to the despair, as he felt Aya give in to him. He knew he had finally won. Whether he managed to kill any of Weiss or not, he had utterly and totally defeated the proud redhead who was their leader.

"It won't be much longer, Precious. I promise," Schuldich whispered, as he gently laid Aya back against the cold, metal wall. He rose and silently walked away without a second glance back at his prey.

Aya leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. For the first time, he realized his hands, which had previously been bound behind his back, were now tied in front of him. It would have given him the perfect opportunity to attack Schuldich, yet, he hadn't even thought about it. That was when he knew, with unerring certainty, the German had won. He was Schuldich's creature now, whether anyone came for him or not. Aya tried to hold back the fear and frustration that had been eating at him ever since Schuldich had taken him, but he couldn't, no more than he had been able to in front of the red-haired Schwarz. Finally, he gave in to it completely, and let sobs wrack his body until darkness claimed him once more.

****


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Yohji wasn't more than five minutes away from the coffee shop, after his meeting with Crawford, when his cell rang. He had a pretty good idea who it was, considering that no one except for Omi and Ken had his number. Well, there was that waitress, too, but he didn't expect it to be her. Yohji frowned as he clicked on the phone. His fingers were slightly numb from the cold, and it took a few missed, fumbling tries before he was able to hit the correct button.

"What the hell are you doing calling me like this?" he snapped into the cell, offering no other greeting.

The person on the other end paused for a moment, and, then, he heard Omi's hesitant voice, "Yohji? That you?"

Yohji sighed. "Yeah. Who the hell else would it be? What do you want? You shouldn't be calling me. What about those Kritiker agents watching you guys?"

"We're not calling from the shop," Omi stated. There was a slight pause, before he asked, hesitantly, "Did the meeting? Did it?"

Yohji heard a brief struggle, followed by Omi's squeak of surprise and irritation. After a couple of seconds of additional fumbling, Ken's voice boomed out, "What happened at the meeting?"

"Nothing," Yohji replied, shortly.

"That's bullshit, and you know it," Ken stated, irritation, anger, and frustration sneaking into his voice. He sighed and paused, as if he was trying to gain control over his emotions, before continuing, "You know we're not gonna accept that for an answer."

"I don't want you guys involved any more. Before, it was inevitable, but, not now. It's better if you're not part of this."

There was a miniscule pause, about the length of a heartbeat, before Ken stated, "Tough shit. You know we're already involved."

Yohji sighed in defeat, "Fine. But, I don't want to have this conversation on the phone. I'm heading back to that coffee shop you know the one . where I met Crawford. I'll meet you there in fifteen. I'll be in the back booth, the one closest to the rear door. Make sure you're not followed."

He didn't wait for Ken's response. Instead, he severed their connection and, with a sigh of frustration, flipped up the collar of his coat to block out the wind as he turned to retrace his steps to the coffee house he'd just left.

************************************************************

As expected, Yohji arrived back at the restaurant before Omi and Ken. As he entered the now-all-too-familiar shop, shrugging out of his coat as he walked, he paused briefly at the front counter. Seeing his familiar face, Lola immediately approached him, a wide, inviting smile crossing her mouth.

"You're becoming quite the regular here," she commented as she rested her crossed arms on the counter and leaned forward, until her face was inches away from Yohji's.

He smiled and leaned forward also, so that their noses were virtually touching. He could smell her perfume, and feel her breath against his cheek.

"Must be the scenery, darlin'," he commented, adding his best, crooked, little-boy grin, for good measure.

"I'm off in ten," she whispered.

Yohji sighed, and, leaning forward ever so slightly, brushed the side of her neck with a gentle kiss and a soft tug of his teeth, which earned him a giggle, as he said, "Sorry. I will be back for you, but I've got other things working today."

He leaned back, and seeing the pout on her perfect, ruby-red lips, smiled and said, "Now, don't be that way, Baby." He grinned at her until his charm finally won out over her anger, and she grinned back. "I'm meeting some friends over there," he said, pointing to the dark booth at the back of the shop, "Could we get a pot of coffee, Columbian blend, and three cups?"

She nodded. "If you promise not to forget me, it can even be on the house," she said, softly.

Yohji pulled her close to him, over the counter, and whispered in her ear, allowing his lips to softly brush against her earlobe and the silver moon earring dangling there, "Sugar, you don't have to bribe anyone. You **know** I'll be back." He released her with a smile, and walked slowly toward the back of the restaurant.

'Shit, I hate this fucking, cat-themed coffee shop,' he thought, briefly, as he slid into the booth, tossing his coat to one side.

He stared around the restaurant, and frowned at the cats that were stenciled on every free inch of wall space, the cutesy, kitty-themed names on the menus, the cat-themed coffee mugs, plates, t-shirts, and other products offered for sale in the shop.

'Aya was right,' he thought morosely, as he propped one elbow on the table and rested his chin in his open, cupped palm, 'It takes one sick mind to come up with something like this.'

Yohji dropped into dark, foreboding thoughts as images of his missing friend passed through his mind. The sound of a coffee pot and three cups clinking onto the table roused him from his reverie enough that he glanced up and smiled briefly at Lola, nodding his thanks as she filled his cup with a mysterious, little half-smile. As soon as she left, Yohji retreated back into his thoughts of Aya. The redhead had been gone for five days now. Five days. It might as well have been five years, or an eternity. He didn't like it, not one bit. He didn't like not having Aya here, and the thought of the redhead in Schuldich's hands made Yohji's insides twist with fear and rage. Who knew what kind of crap that crazy, German bastard was pulling with Aya's mind? Even Crawford had said, point-blank, that Schuldich had gone crazy since the death of his lover at Aya's hands. There was no way of knowing what the red-haired Schwarz operative might do, in the name of revenge. Yohji was terrified of not getting to Aya fast enough --- before Schuldich had a chance to do any real damage. Out of all of them, Aya was, in most ways, the toughest, since he was able to cut himself loose from his emotions and operate independently of what his heart might tell him to do. But, ironically, Yohji sensed this very strength also worked to make Aya the most vulnerable member of the group. It was probably that innate vulnerability that had drawn him to the redhead's friendship in the first place, and that had led him to become so extremely protective of Aya. Aya was so tightly-wound, and everything about the redhead was such a delicate balance: he struggled to let go of all emotions, yet he still felt the pain of his sister's injury and the guilt of their chosen profession with a profoundness that was lost on the rest of them; he was always quiet, yet he really needed to talk, to let go of what he felt inside; he despised his own existence, yet he'd fight tooth and nail for any of the members on his team, even though he never expected or even wanted them to fight for him; he pushed everyone around him away, as if he didn't want or deserve friendship, but Yohji hadn't ever met anyone who needed the love and support of others as much as Aya did. The tall blonde knew, without a doubt, that Aya's sanity was a delicate balance they all struggled to maintain, perhaps for purely selfish reasons. After all, Aya was the one who held them together, caused them to work as a team, and, ironically enough, made them appreciate and care about each other. At any rate, if Aya was pushed too far, one way or the other, Yohji knew he'd go over the edge, and they wouldn't be able to get him back, ever. Although Aya could probably resist Schuldich's machinations for longer than the rest of them, if the redhead broke, Yohji feared it would do permanent damage, and, maybe, even completely destroy the Aya they knew and cared about. Crawford had said Schuldich's powers were going crazy, too --- zoning in and out, super strong one minute and then, gone the next, just like his emotions over the death of his lover. If that was the case, Yohji knew it was just a matter of time before Aya broke under the strain. And, the tall blonde couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him ever since Crawford had shared his vision of Aya's death with him. Even though Crawford had said it was only one possible future, that it could be changed, the man also indicated he hadn't seen any other possibilities --- only this one, ending in Aya's death. Yohji started to take a sip of coffee, but thought better of it, as his stomach to flip-flopped queasily at the thought of Aya, dead in that cold warehouse where Schuldich was keeping him. He wondered, not for the first time, if the redhead was already dead, but he forced his mind to shake off that thought. Schuldich had been interested in revenge; it was a good bet he wouldn't have killed Aya off so quickly.

'Shit,' Yohji thought, as he looked up in response to the jangling of the shop's door bells. He waved to Omi and Ken, and as they crossed the floor to join him, he thought, 'I just want him back. I don't care. I just want Aya back now.'

*************************************************************

Omi frowned at the look on Yohji's face as he slid into the booth, opposite from the older man, Ken right behind him. The tall blonde's face was etched with worry, fear, and gloom, and he was haggard, drawn, and pale. Either Crawford hadn't told him anything, or the American had had nothing to share but bad news. Yohji had waved them over, but, now that they were sliding into the booth opposite him, it was almost as if he had forgotten they were even there. He stared at the table with a vacant, lost look that was so out of place for him it actually made Omi's heart ache for the pain Yohji must be feeling. He and Ken missed Aya, and they were worried about the redhead, too, but it was different for Yohji. Aya hadn't ever seen fit to allow either of the two younger Weiss members into his private world, and, even though Omi knew the redhead cared about them, too, Aya had never truly accepted their friendship or opened up to them --- not like he had with Yohji.

"So?" Ken asked, breaking into Omi's thoughts.

"So what?" Yohji answered.

"Come on," Ken hissed, frustration and anger evident in his voice, "Don't play that fucking game. Not with us. What the hell happened at the meeting with Crawford?"

"Ken," Omi warned, motioning with his hand for the older brunette to shush.

He had seen the way Yohji's eyes had narrowed, almost imperceptibly, and the way they had started to glitter with anger at Ken's challenge. He knew both Yohji and Ken were angry with Schuldich and distraught over Aya's disappearance, but he also knew his two older teammates well enough to know they would be more than happy to take their anger and frustration out on each other. He'd seen it happen on several occasions, and he'd seen Aya put a stop to it often enough to know the redhead thought it a huge waste of time and energy to fight amongst themselves. Yohji and Ken both knew it was a huge waste of energy, too. At the moment, however, they just didn't care. For his part, Omi would have been happy to just let them act like idiots and fight with each other, but it would waste time, and, in the end, it wouldn't help Aya at all.

After a moment, the younger blonde sighed and continued, "Look, we're all worried about Aya, and we're all mad as hell at Schuldich for taking him like that, not to mention at Kritiker, for going after him the way they did. But, fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to accomplish anything. Besides, you know Aya wouldn't stand for it, if he was here."

He glared at Yohji and Ken, switching his gaze from one to the other, until the two older men shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

After a few moments, Yohji sighed. He removed his sunglasses and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it loose from the elastic securing it at the back of his neck, as he said, "You're right, Omi." After another sigh, he muttered, "I just wish like hell Aya **was** here to stop us."

"Me, too," Ken added. He leaned forward to grasp Yohji's wrist in his tanned hand, bringing the tall blonde's eyes to his, "Sorry, Yohji. I'm just worried, that's all. Me and Omi we feel completely out of the loop on this one, and, I guess it's just made me a lot more frustrated, that's all. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's all right," Yohji replied. "I'm sorry for keeping you guys out of this, but Aya he really didn't want you involved. Fair or not, I think he wanted to protect you both from Kritiker. He didn't want you to share his fate. He didn't want me to, either, but I didn't give him any other choice."

Omi smiled as he reached for the two extra coffee cups on the table, pouring a serving, first, for Ken, and then, for himself. "You're probably the only person in the world who could get away with something like that with Aya."

Yohji laughed and took a small sip of his coffee, as he replied, "Yeah. I I guess so."

Ken took a noisy slurp of hot liquid, frowning as it burned its way down his throat. After hastily shrugging out of his coat, allowing it to puddle in a heap behind his back, he asked, again, "So? What happened at the meeting?"

Yohji paused, still debating over whether or not he should tell his companions everything he had learned. After a few tense, silent moments, he leaned forward, resting his crossed arms on the table, and said, in a low, quiet voice, "Crawford knows where he is. He gave me the address. It's an abandoned building in the warehouse district, near the docks."

"So, was Schwarz behind this?" Omi asked, also pitching his voice at a quiet, conspiratorial level.

Yohji shook his head, "No. Crawford insisted he didn't have anything to do with it, and neither did Schwarz. He said Schuldich's gone crazy. He wants revenge on Aya because Aya killed his lover several months ago. According to Crawford, Schu's become obsessed with Aya, with getting revenge on him, destroying him to the point where his powers are even going crazy --- zoning in and out. Crawford said Schu's mental powers can be incredibly strong one minute, and then, the next, gone completely, and it looks like he can't control them any more."

"That's the same thing Aya said, after Schuldich attacked him," Ken commented, taking another noisy slurp, which earned him a sharp, disapproving glance from Omi. The ex-goalie smiled at the young blonde over the rim of his cup, and shrugged, at which point, Omi sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes at the ceiling, as if to indicate that Ken was completely and totally hopeless.

"Yeah," Yohji replied. He leaned back in his seat and toyed with his coffee cup, twisting it around on its saucer, but he kept his voice low. It was almost lunch time, and the coffee shop was becoming crowded. He didn't want to take a chance on anyone overhearing their conversation.

"Why did Crawford want to help get Aya back?" Omi wondered, absently tilting his coffee cup back and forth, until some of the hot liquid splashed over its rim and onto the saucer beneath.

Yohji shrugged, "Who knows why the hell Crawford does anything? He said he didn't care if we got Aya back, but he wants to retrieve Schuldich. With Schu acting the way he has been, Crawford said no one in Schwarz can get close enough to him to catch him and bring him back into the fold."

"And you agreed to hand Schu over to them?" Ken asked, his eyes widening and his tone incredulous.

Yohji shook his head. He signaled toward the front counter, and one of the waitresses came over, order pad in hand. Sadly, his Lola's shift was finished. She had left the restaurant ten or fifteen minutes ago. Yohji had watched her walk through the door with a longing urge and no small amount of regret.

"You want something, hon?" the waitress broke into Yohji's thoughts, drawing his attention toward her.

He looked up into twinkling blue-gray eyes and a pleasant, broad face belonging to an older woman. She had silvery-gray hair, which she piled up on her head in a bun, large, slightly sagging breasts, and a plump, matronly figure. All in all, her appearance drew a sharp contrast with the t-shirt, jeans, and white canvas tennis shoes that were this restaurant's uniform. She cocked her eyebrows at Yohji expectantly, and tapped her pencil on the pad to remind him that she was still waiting. For a moment, Yohji was fascinated by the blood-red polish she wore on her fingertips, but he quickly pulled himself back to the present.

"Um yes," he stammered, reaching for a menu. "Three of these, please," he said. He pointed to the item he wanted, steadfastly refusing to say its name.

She glanced at the menu, and said, "All right. Three "Cat's Meow BLT's". Anything else?"

Yohji shook his head, and she turned to leave the table.

He waited until she had left to continue, "No. I told Crawford, flat out, that I wouldn't give Schu back to them. I need to give him to Kritiker, so that, maybe, they'll forget about going after Aya and, me, too, I guess. Anyhow, Crawford didn't have a problem with that. He said getting Schu back from Kritiker was easier than running him to ground." Yohji shrugged. "Apparently, there's not that much loyalty between the members of Schwarz."

"No loyalty, huh?" Omi asked, his blue eyes wide. Somehow, he still managed to look innocent, even after all he had seen and done in his young life. He paused as the matronly-looking waitress brought their food, depositing the plates in front of them on the table, and then, just as quickly left. Omi leaned forward, grabbed the ketchup bottle from its spot near the wall, and said, as he unstopped it and poured a liberal helping over his fries, "Sounds about right. Well, where is the place? We need to check it out before we go get Aya."

Yohji shook his head, as he took the ketchup bottle from Omi's hand and poured some on his own plate. "No. There's no time for that, and "we're" not going. I'm going. Alone."

Ken refilled his coffee cup from the half-empty pot that still rested on their table. He leaned back in his seat, half of a BLT clutched in his hand, and glared at Yohji. "What, are you crazy?" he snapped. "There's no way in hell we're letting you go in there alone, and Omi's right. We've got to check it out first. What if it's a trap?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure it's a trap," Yohji replied calmly, as he took a bite out of his sandwich. "Damn, that's a good sandwich," he commented, almost absently. "Anyhow," he continued, "If I know Schu like I think I know Schu, he's not going to be happy with just killing Aya. That'd be too easy. He'd want Aya to suffer, just like he has. So, it almost has to be a trap. I'm sure Aya's assured him that he's not Kritiker any more, and that none of us is coming for him; that's the way that guy thinks, painful as it is for any of us to hear. But, I'm also sure Schu probably has more sense about stuff like this than Aya does. Aya wouldn't expect us to come. He wouldn't want us to come. But, Schuldich **knows** we'll come. **We** decide who is Weiss, not Kritiker. Everyone knows that. I'm sure Schuldich isn't any exception."

"Then," Ken mumbled, around a mouth full of sandwich and fries, "All the more reason for you not to go alone, and for us to check it out first. I mean, if it is a trap, it'd be stupid to go in there half-cocked like that."

Yohji shrugged and picked at the few fries remaining on his plate, shoving them around absently, as if they were pieces on a game board. "I know, but I don't care. Schuldich has already had Aya for five days." He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it onto the table, hard enough to make the coffee pot, cups, and plates clatter, and hard enough to draw the attention of the other patrons in the coffee shop. "Dammit," he hissed, "Five fucking days! There's no telling how that fucked up German's already played with his mind. You know how Aya can be and Schu if he's as strong as Crawford says he is right now, even if his powers aren't reliable there's no way he won't be able to feed off the emotions and feelings Aya keeps locked inside that desperation, that despair, that isolation he wraps around himself whenever he withdraws. It's only a matter of time before Schuldich breaks him. Now that we know where he is, we can't leave him there a minute longer. I'm going there this afternoon, to do recon, but that's it. Tonight, I'm going in after him." He looked up at Omi and Ken, meeting their surprised, frightened expressions with a steady, unblinking, determined gaze. "I won't leave him there any longer. None of this **none** of it was his fault, and I want him back, dammit! I want him back **now**."

On an impulse, Omi reached across the table and grasped Yohji's hand. He was half-afraid the older man would just pull away, but the youngest Weiss member had always been free with his emotions, and quick to express his feelings. To Omi's surprise, Yohji didn't withdraw at the contact. Instead, the older man gave the boy's fingers a gentle squeeze.

"I know," Omi said, looking steadily back at Yohji, praying that the older blonde wouldn't break their eye contact. "I know," he repeated, for emphasis, "We're scared for him, too, and we want him back, too. But, we don't want anything to happen to you. If you won't give me the time to really check the place out, at least let us come with you."

"No," Yohji stated flatly. He pulled his hand away from Omi's and broke eye contact with the boy, instead looking down at the half-eaten sandwich and massacred fries on the plate in front of him. "Aya Aya didn't want you involved. He'd be furious if you were in danger; it'll make him mad enough that I come after him. Besides," he said, hesitantly, finally looking up to meet Omi's eyes again, "It's safer if I go alone."

"What are you talking about?" Ken asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the table, his voice indicating, with no uncertainty, that he didn't like what he was hearing. He didn't like it at all. "What what do you mean "it's safer"?" he asked again, "What did Crawford tell you?"

"He had a premonition vision whatever the hell he calls them," Yohji said, slowly, trying desperately to push away the feeling of dread that seemed to have taken up residence in his heart, turning his insides to ice. "He saw he said he said things might not turn out as as I expected."

Ken's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The ex-goalie could be a little dense and slow on the uptake, but, at times, he was incredibly perceptive. Yohji shook his head at the look crossing his dark-haired teammate's face. It told him Ken was well on his way to figuring out exactly what he was talking about. Aya had told him, more than once, to never underestimate Ken, because there was so much more to the man than there seemed to be, and those words rang through Yohji's mind now. As always, Aya was right, and it still shocked Yohji that their silent, often antisocial teammate could be so incredibly perceptive. But, then, just because Aya rarely said anything didn't mean he didn't listen; it didn't mean he didn't pay attention to what went on around him.

"Death?" Ken asked, as if he didn't want to know the answer, but felt he didn't have any other choice except to ask the question.

Yohji nodded, quickly looking away from the glimpse of terror he saw in Omi's wide, blue, almost-innocent eyes.

"Schuldich?" Ken asked, hopefully.

Yohji shook his head.

"Then?" Ken prompted, drawing the information out as if he was pulling teeth from a lizard.

Yohji sighed and felt the feeling of dread lace itself around his heart, which seemed to skip a beat, as he said, "Aya he he saw Aya's death. He he said it was only one possibility only one possible future."

"OK," Ken stated, glancing down at the table, obviously lost in thought, "Then, what other possibilities has he seen?"

'Always the one with the hard questions, aren't you, Ken-Ken?' Yohji thought.

He paused for a heartbeat's breadth of time before he looked back at the ex-goalie and said, "None. He hasn't seen any other possibilities."

"Well," Omi said, slowly, carefully treading down the slippery slope that, with just one misstep, could sink them all into the quagmire of despair, "Isn't that all the more reason not to go in there alone?"

Yohji shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Did he say did he see how it happened?" Ken asked, cutting Yohji off almost before the older man could complete his sentence.

"No," Yohji replied slowly, "He didn't see that, but I think with the least amount of people there, there's less of a chance of things going wrong and ending up in that future you know the one Crawford saw."

"But," Ken persisted, "How do you know that, by going alone, you aren't doing the exact thing that leads to Aya's death?"

'Damn you and your stupid questions that I can't answer,' Yohji thought, glaring at Ken. Finally, he sighed and shrugged, "I I don't know, but I just have a hunch it'll be safer safer and quicker to do it this way."

"You're gonna gamble Aya's life on a hunch?" Ken asked, chomping into the second half of his sandwich as he spoke.

Yohji glared at the ex-goalie for several moments, secretly wishing Ken would choke, not seriously enough to do him any harm, but just so that he would stop being so damn irritating. Ken ate and talked about gambling Aya's life away as if he was discussing shopping for groceries, or ordering out for dinner. Yohji reminded himself Ken didn't mean it that way. He knew Aya and Ken had their differences. Their personalities were too different to expect otherwise, but he also knew Ken had a deep respect for Aya. And, he knew Ken was just as worried about the redhead as he was. He just wished the idiot would act more like it.

After he got his anger under control, Yohji said, as calmly as possible, "No other choice. Right now, a hunch is all I have."

"All right, then," Omi stated, as if the matter was settled. "At the very least, we're going with you to do recon this afternoon." When Yohji started to protest, the boy shook his head emphatically, and stated, in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, "No arguments."

****


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

Yohji pulled his stolen Lincoln Continental into a make-shift parking spot in the shadow of the building where Crawford had said Schuldich was holding Aya. Normally, he'd never park this close, but he still had a bad feeling about this whole thing, and he couldn't shake the nagging voice that kept telling him he'd need the car close at hand. Besides, Aya hadn't been in the best shape when Schuldich had grabbed him, and that was five days ago. Who knew what kind of shape he'd be in now. He might not be able to make it to a car parked too far away.

He stared at his target building for a few moments. The place was huge, and it was in the middle of a huge, twisting, rabbit-warren-type complex of warehouses and storage rooms near the docks. The tall blonde sincerely hoped this particular building was just one big room, as opposed to being broken up into a series of smaller spaces, which he'd have to take the time to search. One big room would definitely make finding Aya a lot easier.

Yohji frowned when he thought about how many times, since Aya's disappearance, he had probably walked right by this damn building without even knowing his friend was in here. The deserted little pier where he docked the motorboat wasn't too far from here. He had probably come by here at least a dozen times in the past five days, and that thought made him almost irrationally angry. Yohji sighed out his frustration and did his best to clear the anger from his mind. He could be pissed off about it later, but, right now, he didn't have time for it. He needed a calm, cool head to deal with Schuldich, even on the best of days, and, as nearly as he could figure, dealing with a half-crazed, raving Schuldich was probably going to require a lot more calm, cool thought than normal. This was most definitely not a time to be losing his temper, not if he wanted to get Aya back, unharmed.

He, along with Omi and Ken, had done recon of this entire area earlier that day. They had come here right after their lunch at the coffee shop, and had spent the better part of the day poking around in the area. Although they had interviewed enough witnesses who had seen Schuldich coming and going from this particular warehouse to confirm it was where the German was holding Aya, they hadn't dared do more than scout the immediate area, for fear of alerting Schuldich to their presence and making him move Aya to another location. Restraint hadn't been easy, though. Yohji had wanted to burst into the warehouse and take Aya back by force, right then and there. Ken and Omi had, just barely, managed to talk him out of it by telling him that cowboy tactics like that would, probably, get Aya killed, just like in Crawford's vision. Yohji hadn't liked hearing it. It had made him mad beyond reason, and he and Ken had, practically, come to blows over it, but, in the end, he had known his younger teammates were right, damn them. It was wiser to wait for the proper time, when darkness could provide him cover and a slim advantage that might mean the difference between getting Aya out alive and recovering nothing more than a dead body. He knew that was what Aya would have said, and done, too. But, it hadn't made the waiting any easier.

Yohji checked his weapons one last time before exiting the car. He drew out a thin sliver of wire from each watch, to make sure their release mechanisms worked smoothly. He hadn't bothered to bring Aya's sword. There was no way he could have used the damn thing, anyhow, but he had found the redhead's back-up pistol among Aya's things back on the yacht. He had decided to bring that along, just in case. Yohji sighted down the gun's barrel, and removed the cartridge for a cursory check of the bullets. He checked the firing mechanism and released the safety lock. He stared at the gun as he balanced it on the palm of his hand.

Yohji couldn't help but grin and laugh softly as he remembered how shocked he had been when he had discovered Aya actually carried a back-up pistol. It had been during a mission --- almost a year ago, now. He couldn't even remember what sort of evil, putrid scum they had been assigned to take down, but he did remember the fighting. It had been fierce. They had expected a single target, with only three or four bodyguards. Instead, they had walked into a hornet's nest full of enemies, and, within minutes, they had been fighting for their lives. After Aya had taken out the target and called for retreat, Ken and Omi had made it out just fine, signaling as much through their comm. link, but he had been trapped, pinned down by enemy crossfire, and unable to escape. Yohji could still hear Aya's voice snapping into his ear, over the comm.: "Stay put, I'm coming for you." He hadn't ever been so relieved in his whole damn life. If he had been smart, he wouldn't have wanted Aya to come. He shouldn't have wanted his friend to walk into that steady stream of hot lead, which promised only death to anyone approaching it. But, he hadn't been smart, at the time. He hadn't been anything but scared. Within minutes, Aya had turned the far corner, directly in front of Yohji and behind the enemies who had pinned him. The damn, crazy fucker hadn't even slowed down. He'd just come charging around the corner, yelling as if he had a whole damn army backing him up. It had worked, though --- surprised the hell out of the three guards who had had Yohji pinned down. They had immediately turned to open fire on Aya, who, unlike Yohji, was out in the open, a seemingly easy target. The redhead had thrown his sword, tossing it end over end, as if it was a machete. Even though he took a bullet in the shoulder just as he threw it, the sword had flown with unerring accuracy, embedding itself in the nearest guard's chest. Aya hadn't even paused, although it had appeared he was unarmed. He had grabbed the dying guard's body, using it as a shield, and, from somewhere in the depths of that swirling, purple-black leather coat of his, he had produced the gun Yohji now held in his hand. Just as quickly as he had arrived, he disposed of the remaining two guards, dealing in five seconds with a problem that had had Yohji pinned for the better part of fifteen minutes.

Yohji remembered that, later, after Aya had sufficiently recovered from the shoulder wound, he had teased his friend about such a superb swordsman using a gun, of all things. It had seemed almost perverse, for someone who spent so much time perfecting their sword work, down to the smallest stroke and hand position, to use a weapon that any Joe Blow off the street could use. Aya had just looked at him and said, as calm and unreadable as ever: _"Getting out alive is all that matters."_ That had shocked the hell out of him. He wouldn't have ever expected to hear something like that from Aya, a man who placed such a small value on his own life. But, the redhead placed a very high value on the lives of those around him.

Yohji chuckled softly as he remembered the calm, unflustered look in Aya's eyes. None of them had known Aya carried a gun; they had all been shocked, but Aya had acted as if it was no big deal. That was Aya for you --- always painfully practical. Once he had thought about it, Yohji had instantly known why Aya had chosen a gun as his back-up weapon; it was something he could use even if he was wounded and unable to use his sword. As far as the tall blonde knew, the redhead was the only one of the group who was practical enough to even carry a back-up, let alone choosing one that could be used, no matter what. But, Yohji knew that, had it not been for Aya's practicality, he would have died that night. He, for one, would be eternally grateful for his quiet friend's simple, practical way of approaching life.

Yohji closed his eyes and leaned back in the driver's seat, still feeling the weight of the gun resting in his palm. Somehow, holding the gun made it almost seem like Aya was here with him. Yohji could still hear the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, as it had been on that night. He could still feel the way his heart had hammered wildly against his ribs, almost as if it had only happened yesterday. In all his years as an assassin, he couldn't ever remember being so damn scared as he had been that night, pinned down by enemy fire, counting the moments left in his life and finding them to be only a precious few. He had thought he was going to die. It had been the first time he had ever realized he really didn't want to die, and he could still remember how surprised he had been at that small revelation of his soul. It still seemed strange --- an assassin who was afraid of dying. He hadn't ever told Aya about that. Aya wasn't afraid of death, and he was sure the redhead would have just laughed at him.

Yohji looked down at the gun in his hand, and thought, 'Maybe not.'

After all, Aya did carry that gun. In sharp contrast to the redhead's apparent disregard for his own life, the gun seemed almost like a silent beacon, signaling Aya's desire to live. Maybe it was just human nature, which was strong and clung to life. Maybe that would always win out, in the end. 

Yohji sighed and slipped the gun into the waistband of his black, leather pants. "No time for weird thoughts," he muttered, as he pushed his sunglasses up higher onto his nose and ran his gloved fingers through messy, slightly tangled hair.

'When this is all over, I'm getting a damn haircut,' he thought, as he opened the driver's side door and slid out of the car.

Yohji was wearing his assassin gear: black half-shirt and black, leather pants, topped by the long, black trench coat with the white crosses on its sleeves. Heavy, thick-soled, black leather boots, thick, black, leather gloves, and, of course, his "lucky" sunglasses completed the ensemble. His "killing clothes", he had always called them. It had always seemed like a funny joke, but, now, with Aya's life hanging in the balance, it suddenly didn't seem so funny any more. Maybe it never had been.

As he slid across the seat to exit the car, all the leather he was wearing rubbed against the vinyl upholstery, causing a series of small, squeaking noises. Yohji emerged into the cold, night air and stretched, glad to be free of the car's confined space. He pulled his ever-present cigarette pack from an inner coat pocket, tapped out one of the sticks and lit up. He smoked it quickly, and stubbed it out under his boot after it was burned only half-way down. It had only been a quick hit, just to settle his nerves before running, like a fool, right into the lion's den. Yohji smiled as he remembered Aya, yelling and charging around that corner, right into a rain of bullets. Hell, all things considered, breaking into one little warehouse, even if it was occupied by a slightly-demented telepath, was the least he could do for his friend. Aya had certainly been around to pull his ass out of the fire on enough occasions.

"After this, though, we're even," Yohji muttered as he crushed the still-burning ciggie under his boot, "At least, until the next time."

A small whine brought his attention toward the passenger side of the car, and he frowned at the big, black dog sitting there. After their recon mission that afternoon, he had asked Ken and Omi to return to the yacht with him, so that they could take Bubba back to the Koneko. The big dog had been whiney and needy ever since Aya had disappeared, and Yohji had decided it would be best for Bubba to be back in the familiar surroundings of the flower shop and their apartment above it. Besides, although he hadn't mentioned it to his teammates, he still had a gnawing feeling of dread about this rescue mission, and, in the event something happened to him, he didn't want the dog to be trapped out on the yacht, alone. The two younger men had quickly agreed, much to Yohji's surprise. They had actually missed having the big dog around. Bubba had been happy to see them, jumping on them, licking at their faces, and tugging gently at their hands and the hems of their coats, but the big dog had been extremely reluctant to leave with Omi and Ken. It had taken all three of them the better part of ten minutes to drag the dog out of the motorboat, when Yohji had dropped his younger teammates off that evening. Yohji hadn't given the dog another thought, until, later that night, when he had docked the motorboat in his usual spot and found the big dog waiting for him. Apparently, Bubba had had his own ideas about where he should be. Yohji hadn't had time to take him back to the flower shop, so he had simply called Omi and Ken to tell them the dog was with him. They hadn't even known Bubba was missing, and Yohji had silently sworn, if he ever had children, that he wouldn't let Ken and Omi baby sit --- ever.

"You stay here, in the car. It's safer," Yohji snapped at the dog, as he closed the door in Bubba's face with a decisive click.

He had only walked about ten steps when the sound of shattering glass caused him to stop, dead in his tracks. Within seconds, the big dog was at his side, shaking glass shards out of his short, thick coat. Bubba sat down and looked up at Yohji expectantly, with that excited-dog look he seemed to wear only around Aya. The dog definitely knew something was up, and Yohji silently wondered if Bubba somehow knew his favorite person was nearby. Whatever the cause for Bubba's excitement, Yohji knew there was no way he was going to get the dog to stay behind.

The tall blonde sighed, "Fine. But, you're gonna have to find your own way in. I'm not hauling your heavy ass through those itty-bitty windows. Those things have to be eight, maybe ten feet off the ground." He looked sternly at the dog, which whined and licked at his hand. "Forget it," he repeated, "I'm not doing it. You can come, but you find your own way in."

The argument seemingly settled, Yohji continued walking toward the building, hugging the shadows, with Bubba close at his heels.

*******************************************************

Yohji reached the back of the warehouse within a few minutes. He had looked all around the building that afternoon, and had quickly decided getting in wasn't going to be any picnic. There was only one door, padlocked from the outside. Yohji could have easily picked the lock and entered through there, but, after taking into consideration that he was dealing with Schuldich, and adding in the strong feeling he had that this whole scenario was a trap, he had decided the door was too obvious. The warehouse had a row of four or five windows along each wall, but they were high off the ground, perhaps eight to twelve feet, and very tiny. Along one wall of the building, crates were stacked up to the windows. It would have been easy for Yohji to use them as a make-shift staircase to reach the windows and gain access that way, but he had decided it was, also, too obvious. After all, this was Schuldich, he had sternly reminded himself that afternoon. It would be just like the crazy German to place the boxes there as a way of enticing him into using that entry point. Instead, he had decided the row of windows at the back of the warehouse, where he now stood, would be his best bet for entering the building. They were deeply shadowed, and there wasn't anything stacked around them. Plus, they were a little lower in the wall, which would make reaching them that much easier. Of course, the thought that Schuldich might have put the easily-breached padlock on the door and the rickety staircase of crates under the windows in order to force him into using these windows, the only seemingly-untampered-with entry into the warehouse, had crossed his mind. But, Yohji forced himself to quickly dismiss that thought. If he followed the rabbit trails of "what ifs" rolling through his mind, he'd never find his way out of there.

Yohji took up position and sent the wire sailing toward the nearest window. He smiled when he was rewarded with the soft clink of shattering glass, indicating that, as always, his aim had been true. He gave the wire a sharp tug, ensuring it was properly secured, and slowly began to haul himself up the wall, hand over hand, using the wire as a life line.

The window was a bit higher than he had estimated, and, by the time he finally reached it, Yohji was panting and slightly out of breath. As he used a gloved fist to quietly break out the rest of the glass, he briefly contemplated quitting smoking, but, almost as soon as the thought crept into his mind, Yohji chased it away as an absolutely ridiculous notion. There was no way he'd give up his ciggies. He loved smoking. He'd even do it when he was sleeping, if he wasn't afraid of incurring Aya's wrath by burning the house down.

'I could use a smoke right now, actually,' he thought as he cleared the last of the glass from the window. He balanced precariously on its tiny sill, squatting with his arms braced against the window frame, to peer into the warehouse.

As he had hoped, the building was one, huge room. It was dark inside, but his eyes adjusted fairly quickly, allowing him his first glimpse of what seemed like an endless expanse of concrete floor, punctuated every few feet with metal columns that reached upward into the darkness of the roof, where they supported the ceiling. There was a second story, of sorts, to the building. A balcony ran the circumference of the room, approximately six feet under the rows of windows in each wall. Yohji counted this as a stroke of good luck, since it meant he could descend to the floor in two, relatively easy jumps, as opposed to rappelling down twelve to fifteen feet of cold, slippery, metal wall. The balcony obstructed his view of everything except for the very middle of the floor, and, consequently, he couldn't see Aya anywhere.

Just before he ducked inside, Yohji peered behind him, to see if Bubba was still there. Moments before, the big dog had stood under the window, peering up and whining as Yohji climbed, but, now, Bubba was nowhere to be seen. Yohji shrugged, figuring the dog was, indeed, looking for another way into the building. Either that, or Bubba had decided to chase a rat. You could never tell with that dog.

"I still have a bad feeling about this," Yohji muttered, as he slid down his wire onto the balcony below the window.

He paused once he landed on the balcony, hugging the deep shadows right next to the wall and allowing his eyes to adjust to the murky, shadowy darkness within the building. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, and it made his insides crawl, forcing him to follow his instincts and cling to the shadows along the wall, instead of following his heart's desire and darting right to the edge of the balcony to search the darkness below for his missing teammate. Being stupid right now wouldn't help Aya, he sternly reminded himself, as he crouched in the dark and waited for his eyes to adjust enough to reveal what the building's shadows hid. Within seconds, the shadows seemed to shift and then part, as his eyes finally got used to the dim illumination in the room. Yohji remained crouched next to the wall, and strained to peer into the distance across from him and around him. He was able to see fairly clearly now, and he didn't see anyone. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He strained his ears, struggling to catch the slightest sound, and heard nothing except the groaning, screeching, and creaking of metal walls as the wind outside caused them to shift and moan. The warehouse appeared to be deserted.

Yohji tried to shrug off his feeling as nothing more than superstition, or a bad case of nerves. He told himself he was just being overly jumpy, because of Crawford's prediction, but, still, the little, raised hairs on the back of his neck and his madly pounding heart refused to listen to reason. Yohji took a deep breath and carefully, moving in a half-crouch, made his way to the edge of the balcony, so that he could peer down onto the entire room below him. He found a little cover, in the form of a large crate that had been left against the balcony rail. It wasn't much, but it made him feel a bit better about being out of the shadows. He knelt behind it and peered around its edge into the murky black that seemed to swirl beneath him.

The area beneath the balcony was fairly empty, except for a few crates stacked near or around the metal columns, and, directly across from his current position, what looked like a pile of discarded clothing. Yohji stared at it, holding his breath, until finally, the shapeless pile seemed to coalesce into an identifiable form.

"Shit. Aya," Yohji muttered, his breath hitching in his throat.

Suddenly, Yohji forgot everything. Everything --- all of his planning, all of his resolve about approaching this situation wisely, all of his decisions about picking the fight carefully so that he would have the advantages he needed --- melted away with the frantic thumping of his heart and his burning desire to do nothing more than be at Aya's side. His mind and heart both screamed at him to hurry, to not worry about anyone else being around, to forget it was a trap, and he listened. He quickly recoiled the length of wire he'd used to enter the window, and, wrapping its end around the rail near him, he jumped over the balcony and slid down to the floor below before he could talk himself out of doing it. He landed with a thump that, although soft, seemed to echo and reverberate off the metal walls until it grew and magnified into a horrendous thudding that seemed to portend certain disaster. Yohji ignored it. He hit the ground running, and, severing the length of wire as he moved, quickly covered the open space separating him from Aya.

Yohji slid to a stop at his friend's side. Aya was half-sitting, half-lying against one of the walls, and, although his eyes were open, he seemed unaware of Yohji's approach, or of the tall blonde's presence. The normally sharp, clear violet-blue eyes were dull and glazed, and they stared out at nothing with a far-away look that made Yohji's stomach clench with fear. The defeated, empty look in those familiar eyes was enough to make the blonde's blood run cold. It was as if Aya wasn't even in there any more, and Yohji feared he had gotten there too late to really save his friend.

Without moving to touch Aya, Yohji quickly let his eyes slide over the redhead's body, taking stock of any injuries he could detect. It was too dark to tell the true extent of the damage, but the light-colored sweater he had been wearing on the day Schuldich had grabbed him was stained with dark patches in several spots, indicating either fresh injuries or old ones that, not yet having had a chance to heal, had, once again, broken through their sutures. The redhead's hands were tied in front of him, but, even so, his right arm hung at a strange, slightly twisted angle --- probably a dislocated shoulder. From the shallow, harsh way Aya breathed, Yohji guessed there were broken ribs. He could see bruising on the pale skin of Aya's face --- a long, dark bruise discoloring one side of his head, a deeper bruise on his cheek, and a black eye that looked as if it had almost healed. It was obvious Schuldich had not treated his captive kindly, yet, from what Yohji could see, the physical damage didn't seem too terribly bad. Aya had certainly had worse. But, there were still those eyes, with their lost, empty look. Yohji felt his heart thumping against his ribs, and his stomach clenched in anger and fear as he considered the possibility that the mental damage just might be irreversible.

Finally, when Aya gave no indication he was aware of Yohji's presence, even after several moments of careful, quiet watching on the tall blonde's part, Yohji reached out, with a shaking hand, to gently brush at his friend's cheek. "Aya? Aya? It's me. It's Yohji." When he still received no response, Yohji grabbed at Aya's uninjured shoulder and gently shook the younger man. "Aya? Aya, look at me."

Aya blinked, as if just coming awake, and the empty, violet eyes turned toward Yohji, slowly focusing on his face. At first, there wasn't anything --- no emotion, no recognition, nothing. But, ever so slowly, Yohji saw the faintest glimmer of recognition flash deep within his friend's eyes.

"Yo Yohji?" Aya asked, his voice soft and hoarse, cracking from lack of use, and, probably, five days of no food and little water. "I thought you wouldn't come. I I told him. I told him you wouldn't come."

"Shhh," Yohji soothed. He pulled his knife from his boot and quickly sliced through the ropes holding Aya's hands. "It's all right now. Of course I came. Omi and Ken wanted to come, too, but I wouldn't let them." He gently rubbed at Aya's hands, trying to restore some feeling while, at the same time, avoiding the ugly, raw, bleeding wounds the ropes had made. He looked back at his friend and forced a reassuring smile, "You think you can stand? We need to get the hell outta here."

"I told him. I told him you wouldn't come," Aya repeated, in that same, hollow, exhausted voice. He looked at the floor, and then, back at Yohji, "I told him you wouldn't come."

Aya's mantra was quickly unsettling Yohji's nerves. He shook the redhead and gently chastised, "Stop. Stop it, Aya. Stop saying that. You're giving me the creeps. Come on, snap out of it, OK?"

"No," Aya said, slowly, as if he was struggling to gather thoughts that had scattered, blown away by the wind like so many dried, dead leaves.

Suddenly, his thoughts, or whatever he was hearing in his mind, seemed to coalesce, and he looked up at Yohji, a look of pure terror written across his face, his eyes, previously empty and emotionless, now filled with the deepest fear the tall blonde had ever seen. Yohji found himself involuntarily backing away, but Aya, wincing at the pain of forcing his dislocated shoulder into action, grabbed for him, fisting his hands in the material at the front of Yohji's coat.

"No," the redhead repeated, "You you can't be here. You have to go. Now." He released his hold then, shoving Yohji roughly backward with a strength that, fed by terror, was completely at odds with his physical and mental condition.

Yohji stumbled backward a few steps, further into the middle of the room, before he managed to catch his balance. He frowned at Aya, but didn't try to come closer to the redhead, as he asked, "What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm not leaving without you." He held out his hand, as if he was trying to convince a small, unruly child, "Come on. We'll both go. We'll go now, OK?"

"No!" Aya yelled, forcing himself to his feet. He stood on shaking legs, facing Yohji with the terror still playing through the depths of his eyes. "No. I I told him you wouldn't come. He wanted it, but I said no."

Yohji scowled at Aya. The sense of dread he'd had about this rescue ever since his meeting with Crawford had finally managed to entirely take over, and his insides felt as if they were made of ice. He knew his voice was shaking, but he didn't even try to stop it, as he said, "Aya. Aya, come on. You're you're not making any sense. It doesn't make any sense. Just come with me."

"No," Aya replied.

His voice was also shaking, but Yohji couldn't tell if it was from fear, or from exhaustion. It seemed the redhead could barely stay on his feet, and he swayed back and forth, dangerously close to falling. Yohji desperately wanted to go to him, catch him in his arms, keep him from falling, and protect him from whatever terror was, obviously, eating him alive. But, he didn't. He knew one false move could send Aya right over the edge, so he forced himself to stay put, not straying from the spot where had ended up after Aya had pushed him.

"Can't you see?" Aya begged, staring at the floor next to his feet. "Please he'll never let me go. He wanted you, Yohji. Wanted to break me by forcing me to watch you die. But, I told him I told him you wouldn't come. I let him have me, instead of you. Shit! Why? Why did you come? I told him no. I told him you wouldn't come, but now now, you're here, and he's inside my head." Aya looked up, and Yohji was shocked to see tears shining in his eyes, "He's here inside my head, laughing at me. Because I let him break me. I I let it happen so that so that he wouldn't have you. Why!? Why the fuck did you come!?" Aya was sobbing so hard that he was shaking, and he leaned against the wall behind him, slamming his head into it, and screaming, "Get out! Get out of my fucking mind! I won't I won't let this happen. I won't let you have him. I won't! I won't! I won't!"

"Aya! Fuck, Aya, stop! Stop it!" Yohji screamed.

He started toward his friend, one hand held out before him in a pleading gesture. He was unsure of what to do, but determined to, at least, keep Aya from hurting himself any further. Yohji could feel his blood tingling through his veins, as if that cold feeling of dread had finally managed to freeze it, too. He hadn't ever seen Aya freak out like this, not even in the midst of a Takatori-murdering frenzy, and it scared him. It was like Aya was fighting a battle with his own mind, and watching it scared the living daylights out of Yohji. Sure, Aya was the most tightly-wound, up-tight bastard he knew. The redhead's emotions and feelings were always kept closely in control, and he was coiled up like a spring, ready to break at any moment. But, he always managed to hold it together somehow, and, in the process, he managed to hold all of them together, too. What would happen to them if Aya didn't survive this, if Aya didn't win this battle of wills raging inside his mind? Yohji knew it was a selfish question, but he asked it, all the same. He knew Aya was fighting for them, as much as for himself.

Yohji had taken two, halting steps forward when Aya stopped him in his tracks by spearing him with a death glare that left no doubt as to who was in control of his mind now. "You stupid fuck!" he hissed, as he launched himself toward Yohji, "It's just what he fucking wanted!"

Yohji thought Aya was attacking him, and he, involuntarily, took several steps backward, moving further into the unsheltered, open middle of the room. He was so shocked by Aya's behavior that he never heard the gun cock, or its report as it sent a bullet hurtling toward him from the balcony above. Aya moved with a grace, agility, and speed that belied his injures, and, just as the bullet reached Yohji, he threw himself onto the older man, bringing him to the floor under his weight and shielding the tall blonde's body with his own.

Yohji didn't understand what was happening, but, in that way split-second events seem to have of stopping time, it felt like he was moving in slow motion, like the whole world was moving that way. He felt Aya's weight hit him, driving him to the ground. As he wrapped his arms around the redhead, he heard the sickening thud of a bullet hitting flesh and felt the shudder that ran through Aya's body as it struck him in the back. Even as they were falling, Yohji managed to catch a glimpse of Aya's eyes. There was shock, pain, and then nothing --- just emptiness --- as they slid closed and Aya's body went limp and heavy in his arms. Yohji felt the floor come up to meet him, hard, and it took his breath away as he landed, seconds that had stretched into an eternity falling back into seconds again, as the normal flow of time resumed.

As he struggled for breath, Yohji heard it --- crazed, gleeful laughter that echoed through his mind. It was such a subtle presence, he almost thought the laughter was his, but he knew better. He knew exactly who it was --- Schuldich. The German had invaded his mind before, and Yohji had known then he'd never forget the sensation. This was the exact same feeling. Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place. It had been a trap, all along, just as he had suspected, just as Crawford had tried to warn. Aya's words hadn't been lunatic ravings at all. The redhead had been trying to warn him away, had been trying to tell him Schuldich had planned it this way all along. The German had always intended to take his revenge on Aya, not by killing the swordsman, but by taking away the things that mattered to him, that kept him sane: his position in Weiss, the support of his teammates, who were his adopted family, and, worst of all, his closest friend.

"It's true," the silky-sweet, sickening German voice purred in his mind, as loudly as if Schuldich were standing next to him, whispering in his ear. "I planned it this way all along. Why else go to the trouble of having Precious kicked out of Kritiker, hunted like an animal? If I had only wanted to kill him, it would have been easy, but I wanted to break him, just like he broke me when he killed Sergei." There was a brief pause, before the voice continued, in a tone that sounded almost like regret, "Of course, I had planned on keeping him. He fought me, you know, right up till the end, but, he couldn't win. I still broke him --- with images of you, lying dead at his feet. I was going to keep him, to be my plaything, to replace Sergei. Precious is so pretty he was so pretty once he'd broken, once he realized he was really my creature, and that he had nothing left to live for." Yohji heard a sigh whisper through his mind, followed by, "Oh well. Perhaps it's better this way. Animals that are suffering should be put down, after all. I can always find another pretty plaything."

"NOOOOO!"

Yohji heard someone yelling, and it took a few seconds for him to realize that the crazed, enraged voice was his. He wanted Schuldich --- out of his mind and dead at his feet --- and he wanted it **now**. The tall blonde shoved Aya's still body off of him, and leapt to his feet, pushing that single-minded thought, along with his white-hot, burning rage, at the German. He was rewarded with a slight jolt of shock and fear before Schuldich hastily retreated from his mind. Yohji couldn't see anything through the curtain of rage that had fallen over him. It blinded him to all reason, and he charged across the floor, which was devoid of cover, toward Schuldich, who was positioned on the balcony across from where he and Aya had fallen. The German's higher position, the lack of cover in the middle of the warehouse, and Yohji's blind rage, which prevented the blonde from exercising the good sense to use the columns for cover, all combined to give Schuldich a tactical advantage. After the momentary shock at feeling Yohji's rage, the German recovered, and, with another crazed laugh, took aim at the tall blonde.

Through the emotions blinding him, Yohji saw Schuldich aiming at him, and he had the presence of mind to think, 'Shit, I am so dead.' But, he didn't stop his forward charge, partly because he'd already come too far to turn back, but, mostly because he just didn't care. He kept seeing the way Aya's eyes had gone dead as the redhead fell, limp and lifeless in his arms, and that vision kept him charging across the open floor without even trying to find cover, even though his mind screamed at him for being a fool. Before Schuldich could pull the trigger, Yohji heard shattering glass. He was almost directly underneath the red-haired German at that point, and the broken glass shards showered down on top of him, forcing him to stop his forward progress and shield his face. Yohji looked up in time to see a huge shape, inky-black against the murky darkness in the building, sail through the falling shards and chunks of glass. For the first time that night, he was truly glad he had brought Aya's stupid dog with him. He vaguely recalled that the row of windows with the crates stacked underneath was along that particular wall, and he figured Bubba must have scaled them to get into the building.

The dog took Schuldich completely by surprise. A feeling of blind panic, along with a memory of the animal's teeth sinking into flesh, flashed through Yohji's mind, making the blonde smile. It seemed Schuldich was still afraid of Bubba. The German turned, intending to fire at the big, black dog, but Bubba was on him before he could aim. The dog was poetry in motion as he sailed through the window with a throaty bark of rage and a vicious snarl, teeth bared, muscles driving him forward, no thought in his mind except for sinking his teeth into this man, who was his most hated enemy. The dog's movements made Yohji think of the times he'd watched Aya practice his sword work; Bubba moved with the same sureness, grace, and agility, and, suddenly, Yohji realized why the dog had been so drawn to Aya, in the first place. The big, black dog and the silent redhead were alike; in so many ways, they were the same creature --- savage, brutal, yet beautiful, and selflessly devoted to those they loved.

Bubba was on Schuldich without ever touching the ground. He landed, paws first, on the German's chest, forcing Schuldich to the floor. In the process, the German dropped his gun, and it clattered to the floor at Yohji's feet. The tall blonde kicked it out of the way and watched as Bubba threw himself on top of Schuldich, snarling, snapping, and growling, biting at the German's shoulder, then his arms, and, finally, his throat. Schuldich was screaming, an unbroken string of unintelligible curses in English, Japanese, and German, as he struggled to shove the dog off, but Bubba was too big and too strong.

Yohji watched for a few seconds, allowing Bubba to have a little fun, before calling out, "Bubba! Off!"

The dog looked up at him and, even in the dim light, Yohji could see blood on his muzzle. Bubba looked at him with narrowed, yellow eyes that glittered with unspent anger, and then, the dog seemed to look a little beyond Yohji, to where Aya lay crumpled on the floor. Bubba snarled again, and appeared ready to return to his mauling. Yohji briefly turned back, following the dog's gaze to Aya's limp form, and frowned when it occurred to him that Bubba might not stop before he killed the red-haired German.

"Bubba! Off! Now!" Yohji yelled again, frowning and moving forward. He needed Schuldich alive, if he had any hope of getting Aya out of this mess with Kritiker, and he didn't want to leave his friend alone, lying on that cold floor, for the span of time it would take him to climb to the balcony and physically pull the dog off Schuldich.

To his relief, Bubba retreated. He stood slightly to one side --- snarling viciously, growling, hair bristling enough to make him look twice his size --- and glared at Yohji. No, Yohji realized, as he moved forward, unleashing another length of wire. Not **at** him, but **behind** him, at Aya. The dog was staring at his fallen master.

"I know," Yohji softly told the dog, "I feel the same way. But, the sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get to him."

The blonde sent his wire sailing up toward the balcony, where it wrapped around Schuldich's wrist. The German, who had been dazed by Bubba's attack, immediately started fighting to strip off the wire, but one savage yank by Yohji threw him completely off balance and sent him tumbling over the balcony's edge. It was about a six-foot fall to the floor, not enough to kill or, considering Schuldich's uncanny survival instinct, even badly injure the German, but it was enough to knock the man unconscious, finally silencing the steady stream of nearly unintelligible, curses he'd been screaming ever since Bubba's attack. Yohji stood over Schuldich, who had landed slightly on his side, and roughly shoved the man over onto his stomach. He bound Schuldich's hands tightly behind his back with the wire, severing it once he was done, and, then, turned and quickly did the same with the German's feet. With his quarry secured, Yohji immediately turned his attention toward the still figure lying in the middle of the warehouse floor.

His breath catching in his throat, Yohji slid to his knees next to Aya. The redhead had fallen on his stomach, and he was lying with one arm underneath him, his dislocated shoulder twisted to the side in a sickening angle. Fresh blood had soaked half his sweater. It formed a small puddle underneath his body, and the thick, warm liquid continued to come, as if it poured out of him. With shaking hands and his heart thumping a crazy, terror-filled pattern that made his ribs ache, Yohji reached out and gently, ever so gently, turned Aya over, onto his back. Yohji felt tears stinging his eyes as he fumbled to pull off his gloves and slid his cold-numbed hands under the collar of Aya's sweater. He sighed in relief when he felt a pulse. It was weak, and unsteady, but it was there, a small sign of life. Aya was breathing, but just barely.

"Please, Aya," Yohji whispered, "Please, please, please. This isn't funny not a good joke at all, OK? So, just wake up, all right? Just wake up and tell me to fuck off tell me you're fine tell me to leave you the hell alone. Just talk to me."

The whole time he spoke softly to Aya, Yohji continued to fumble with the younger man's clothes. He cursed softly as he willed his cold, shaking hands to work properly, to obey the commands his mind gave them. After a few breathless moments, he managed to work his knife out of his boot, and he sliced open Aya's sweater, pulling the redhead slightly off the ground and into a sitting position, leaning against his chest, so that he could look at the wound in Aya's back. As the material parted under the sharpened edge of his blade and fell away from his friend's body, Yohji's heart clenched and his breath died in his throat. There was so much blood. It had soaked through Aya's sweater. It pooled around his body. Yohji could feel it seeping over his hands and soaking through the thick leather of his pants. And, with every struggling beat of Aya's heart, it seemed to bubble out of him, a never-ending stream.

"Shitshitshitshitshit," Yohji muttered. "Hang on. You have hang in there, Aya. Please, please, please. I mean it. This is **not** funny, not a funny trick at all."

Yohji's mind raced frantically from one thought to another: there just wasn't that much blood in a body; Crawford couldn't be right; it was just one possible future; it didn't have to be the only future; it can't end this way, it just can't. Thankfully, his hands worked of their own accord, completely independently of, and with no need for instructions from his mind. He tore Aya's ruined sweater into strips, rolling some of them up and stuffing them into the gaping wound on the younger man's back. He had hoped it would, at least, slow the bleeding. Yohji held his breath for a moment, and then sighed in relief as the flow finally started to slow. He took the rest of the strips, and, mindless of Aya's broken bones and dislocated shoulder, tightly bound the wound. He knew he was probably doing additional damage to some of Aya's injuries, but it couldn't be avoided. The gunshot wound was the worst, most life-threatening at the moment, and he had to stop the bleeding, no matter what.

A small, whining sound brought Yohji's attention away from Aya, and he looked up to see Bubba sitting near them, just on the other side of Aya's outstretched legs. Yohji didn't know how the dog had gotten down off the balcony, and, at the moment, he didn't care. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around his injured friend, before laying Aya back onto the floor.

"Stay with him," he snapped at the dog as he got to his feet and ran across the floor, to where he had left Schuldich. As he jerked the red-haired Schwarz off the floor and ran for the door, Yohji glanced over at Aya, relieved to see that the big, black dog had moved in to snuggle gently next to the injured man's side.

Yohji grabbed Schuldich by the collar and dragged him roughly over the hard, concrete floor toward the door. He was grateful the German was unconscious. He knew he needed Schuldich alive, but, it wouldn't take much to push him into killing the man. One smug word from the asshole's mouth would have done it. When he reached the door, Yohji sighed in frustration, as he had just remembered the padlock, which he had seen during his recon earlier that day. He silently cursed, thinking he would have to find an alternate way of getting Aya out of the building. Once he was in sight of the door, Yohji realized it was locked from the inside, this time, and he cursed himself for not noticing that when he had arrived for the rescue mission. Maybe, just maybe, if he'd had his mind on noticing little details like this one, he would have realized Schuldich was there. And, if he had, maybe, just maybe, Aya wouldn't be back there, bleeding his life out on the cold concrete floor. With one savage kick from his heavy boot, Yohji shattered the lock, causing the door to swing open and bang against the nearest wall.

Yohji dragged Schuldich over the rough ground outside the warehouse, rapidly covering the few feet separating him from his stolen car. It was cold, and he had given his coat to Aya. He shivered as the wind hit him, quickly cutting through the thin, half t-shirt he wore, but he quickly pushed thoughts of the cold from his mind. He opened the trunk and, without ceremony, dumped Schuldich's body in, grinning at the sound it made when it hit the bottom. Yohji peered in, and whistled when he saw there was still quite a bit of space left in the large, roomy trunk.

'Always steal American,' he thought as he ran back toward the warehouse, 'Enough trunk space for three bodies.'

************************************************************

Yohji glanced nervously over at Aya as he raced through the darkened city streets toward the hospital. Bubba peered at the redhead from the back seat, hanging his big, square head over the seat back, and whined, apparently seconding Yohji's feelings of helplessness and fear. The blonde fumbled for Aya's wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was still there, but it felt like it was fading quickly. After satisfying himself that Aya was, at the moment, still alive, Yohji allowed his hand to stray up to scratch Bubba's broad, square head.

"I know, boy," he whispered, "I know, but he's tough. If anyone can make it, he can."

Yohji steered with his knee as he reached over to fish his cell phone out of the pocket of his trench coat, which Aya still wore. Once he managed to find it, he pulled it out of the pocket and punched in Manx's number. Within seconds, he was rewarded with the sound of the red-haired Kritiker agent's sultry voice over the phone.

"Yes?"

"Manx. Yohji. I have something to exchange for our lives --- mine and Aya's. Mercy Hospital, ten minutes."

After that, he severed the connection with a click and concentrated on driving, glancing over ever so often to silently pray that his friend was still alive.

**********************************************************

Ken and Omi were downstairs, in the basement briefing room, glued to the computer as they surfed the Internet for any information indicating whether or not Yohji's rescue mission had been successful, when the phone rang. The abrupt, jangling noise broke the heavy silence that had descended on the room, and caused both of them to jump. It was their mission phone, the one only Manx, Persia, or Kritiker used, and the fact that it was ringing now, when, technically, they had been on "stand-by" for months, seemed to foretell ominous news. They stared at the ringing phone for a few tense moments, before Ken slowly crossed the floor to pick up the handset.

"Yeah?" he asked. He paused, listening quietly for a minute, and then said, "Understood."

Omi had watched Ken closely, straining to see any body language that might indicate what the person on the other end of the line was saying, but there wasn't anything. Nothing about the ex-goalie's expression or body language gave anything away, until he hung the phone up with a shaking hand. He turned to Omi, and the boy was surprised to see tears glistening in Ken's eyes.

"Get your coat," he said, "That was Manx. Yohji called her, said he had something to trade for Aya's freedom. She's meeting him at Mercy Hospital, and she thought, under the circumstances, we should, maybe be there, too."

Omi's blue eyes became wide with fear. "Aya?" he asked, his voice shaking with emotion.

Ken shrugged. "She didn't say. Come on, get your coat. We need to go."

Omi nodded, and darted for the stairs, Ken on his heels. As they pounded up the stairs to grab their coats, the young blonde looked back toward Ken, over his shoulder, and said, "It it doesn't have to end like Crawford said. It's just one possibility."

****


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

Yohji paced the floor of the waiting room, just outside the emergency room's surgical area. Aya was back there, fighting for his life. Up toward the nurses' desk, turn around, walk to the other end of the room, near the doors, pause, sigh in frustration, and slam his fist into the wall, only to turn around and do the whole thing again, over and over, until it seemed like he would wear a path in the floor and the rest of the people in the waiting room started watching him with nervous looks on their faces. On his tenth circuit, a hushed voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Sir? Sir?"

Yohji looked up to see one of the nurses standing in front of him. She was young, fairly attractive, and wore a kind smile on her face --- all of which was lost on Yohji. He was too worried to take even the smallest notice of the woman.

"Yeah?" he snapped, irritably.

"Um maybe you'd be more comfortable if you sat down to wait, instead of pacing?" she stated, allowing her voice to rise in a slight question mark at the end of her statement.

Yohji glared at her, unable to dredge up even a smidgeon of his Kudou charm, and hissed, in a low, deadly voice that left no room for argument, "Maybe you'd be more comfortable over there, behind your fucking desk, instead of here, bothering the shit out of me! Or, maybe you can chase down one of these people sitting here like lumps and force them to fill out some forms. I'll bet there are about a hundred damn things you would be more comfortable doing right now, instead of bothering me." He continued to glare at her until she retreated back to her desk, tears shining in her eyes. Then, he turned to glare at the other people in the waiting room, until they all looked away, rather than meeting the rage in his eyes. Satisfied, he was about to resume his pacing, when a familiar voice broke the silence that had just fallen over the waiting room.

"Things must be bad, if you're not even able to flirt, Yohji."

The voice came from behind him, but Yohji didn't have to look. He knew who it was. "Manx," he hissed, spitting the name out like it was poison. He turned to see the redhead standing near the wall behind him, next to the door.

Manx smiled and moved forward, a friendly-fake smile pasted on her face, "Long time, no see." 

Yohji turned to face her, leaning against the wall next to her, and stating in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, "Let's not waste time on pleasantries, Manx. You know you're not really my favorite person now, much as it pains me to say so. All I want to know is if we can deal or not."

"Depends," Manx replied, "What've you got for me?"

"Schuldich, in exchange for backing off Aya. It's a good deal, Manx. Just think of the information Kritiker could get out of a bona-fide member of Schwarz. He's waiting for you, right out there, in the trunk of my car," Yohji stated.

"And, what are you going to give me in exchange for your life, Yohji?" the redhead asked, drawing his name out in a sickly-sweet, teasing manner, a smile pasted across her perfect features.

Yohji shrugged, "I don't much care about my life at the moment. Just Aya's."

"How commendable," Manx muttered, her sarcastic tone belying the complimentary words. "Tell you what," she continued, her eyes crinkling in a smile that was no longer fake, but a genuine expression of pleasure, "I'll give you a two for one. I'll throw in your life, too, since it seems like everything worked out better than we had ever hoped. Really, it couldn't have gone better if we had planned it."

Yohji stiffened, ever so slightly, at her words. "What are you saying?" he asked, slowly, as if he didn't really want to know the answer.

Manx shrugged, "Come, now, Yoh ji. You're not as dumb as you want everyone to believe. I think you can figure it out, but, just in case, I'll lay it out for you. We were going to retire Abyssinian, but, after we realized Schuldich was after him, he again became too valuable a commodity to let go. Instead, we let Schuldich drive him out of Weiss. We realized Schuldich had gone rogue, and, without Schwarz's protection, he was a viable target, for the first time. Abyssinian was the perfect bait to draw him out, and, you played your part so perfectly bringing him to us."

Yohji couldn't believe what he was hearing. He thought that he was beyond caring, totally and completely numbed by what he'd been through tonight, but Manx's words set his temper boiling again. "You **wanted** this to happen?" he hissed, through clenched teeth. "Your fucking operatives shot Ay Abyssinian! He almost died from that. And, now, he's in there, with a bullet in him put there by Schuldich. And, you say you **wanted** this to happen?" 

"Abyssinian's injury at the hands of Kritiker was regrettable. And, if we should happen to lose him, it will be a harsh blow to the organization. But, nothing that can't be remedied, in time."

"YOU BITCH!" Yohji screamed, causing the people nearest them to jump.

Manx and Yohji had spoken in hushed, whispered tones. None of the other people in the waiting room had overheard any of their conversation until Yohji's angry outburst. He twisted around, placing his hands on either side of Manx's head, trapping her within the circle of his arms, and leaned in toward her, until their noses were almost touching.

His voice was shaking with pent-up frustration and rage, as he snarled, in his deadliest, assassin voice, "You'd best turn around and leave here right now. We'll call this even, for now --- you get Schuldich, me and Aya, we both get to come back home. But, if you're smart and I know you are one smart lady, you'll be praying that he doesn't die. Because, if he does, all bets are off, and I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you, for Persia, and for anyone else in Kritiker that I can get my hands on. And, I'm not going to stop until you're dead. I want that clear, right here, right now. I won't be satisfied until I wring the life out of you with my bare hands, my bare, fucking hands, you ice-cold, fucking bitch!" He slammed his fist into the wall next to Manx's head and smiled a satisfied smile at the fear he saw flit across her eyes as she jumped in response to the gesture. It was just the briefest, faintest glimmer of emotion, and then, it was gone, replaced by the cold, hard expression that normally shielded her lovely eyes.

"YOHJI!" Omi's voice squeaked out. The two youngest Weiss members had entered the emergency room door just in time to see the tall blonde slam his fist into the wall next to Manx's head. They hadn't heard his words, but it was obvious, from the blonde's body language, that he had been threatening Manx.

Ken was at Yohji's side in two strides, pulling the older man's arm away from the wall, pulling Yohji away from Manx. He allowed Ken to pull him away. As he turned, Manx grabbed at his arm. She barely brushed his skin with the tips of her fingers, but it was enough to make his blood crawl. He turned back toward her, a scowl on his face. Manx calmly held out her hand, palm up, and, with a facial expression somewhere between a snarl and a grin, Yohji dropped his car keys into her open hand.

"Maroon Lincoln Continental. Third row from the front in the ER parking lot," he stated, glaring at Manx. Without ever taking his eyes from the red-haired woman, he said, "Ken, go with her. Bubba's in the car, too. Much as I'd like to set him loose on her, I don't want to take a chance on her shooting Aya's dog."

Yohji glared after Manx as the woman turned on her heel and quickly left the emergency room with Ken.

"Yohji, what what happened?" Omi asked, plucking at the older man's arm to get his attention. When Yohji turned around to face the boy, Omi gasped. He hadn't noticed before, but the tall blonde's clothing and hands were liberally stained with blood, which Omi figured, had to be Aya's. "Is Aya is he all right?"

Before Yohji could answer, a new voice broke in, "Mr. Kudou? Are you the one who brought in Mr. Fujimiya?"

Yohji turned to face the doctor who had just emerged from the double doors leading to the emergency surgical area. She was middle-aged, with a few graying strands of hair peeking out from under the surgical cap she wore, but her eyes, which were gray-blue, were kind, and her smile, although sad and concerned, seemed genuine. She was wearing greenish-colored scrubs, which were liberally splattered with blood, and tennis shoes, which had probably been white at the beginning of the evening, but were now also covered with drying blood. She smiled and waited for them to respond, but neither Yohji nor Omi, both of whom were staring at her with wide-open eyes, mesmerized by the blood on her clothing, gave any indication they had even heard the question.

Finally, she bowed slightly as she said, "I'm Dr. Takani. I'm one of the surgeons treating your friend." She gestured toward a room off to one side of the waiting room. "Perhaps we'd be more comfortable talking in there, if you'd come with me, please."

Yohji nodded woodenly, suddenly realizing that the feeling of dread, which had dissipated somewhat after recovering Aya, was back once more. He could feel it slithering around in his chest, like a snake, devouring him from the inside out. He followed the doctor toward the room, glancing behind him briefly to make sure Omi was coming, too. He was fairly certain he didn't want to be alone when he heard what the doctor had to say. The boy was there. Omi paused, briefly, to wave to Ken, who had just returned from securing Bubba in Yohji's car, which the two youngest assassins had brought to the hospital. Ken waved back and then crossed the waiting room to join them.

The small room contained a desk and two chairs. The doctor moved behind the desk to sit, indicating that they should take the chairs. Yohji and Omi dropped into them, and Ken, who had followed at some distance, stood behind them, leaning against the door, which he had pulled shut as he entered the room.

"I can have another chair brought in," the doctor started, giving Ken an eyebrows-raised, questioning look.

The ex-goalie grinned shyly and shook his head, "No, I'm fine, standing, thanks."

Dr. Takani sighed and thumbed through the chart she had carried into the room and placed on the desk in front of her. Finally, she looked up and said, "I really I don't know exactly how to approach this, so I'm just going to be quite frank. I hope you won't mistake that for lack of caring." She watched the three men closely, waiting for some reaction, and, when they nodded at her, she continued, "Your friend is very badly hurt. He has a number of injuries." She held up one hand and starting ticking items off on her fingers, as if she was going over a shopping list, "Broken ribs; a cracked collarbone; a dislocated shoulder; there's a bullet still in him, very close to his heart; he's malnourished and very dehydrated; it looks as if he's had nothing to eat and very little to drink for several days; massive blood loss; there are some old injuries that haven't healed; these have become infected, and, given his physical condition right now Well, his body just isn't that strong. He's having trouble fighting off the infection. We're treating it with very strong IV antibiotics and hoping it won't spread, but I can't say for certain that it won't. We need to operate to remove the bullet and repair the damage from the gunshot wound he suffered, but we can't do that unless his condition stabilizes, which I'm hoping will occur in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If it does, we can take that bullet out."

"If it doesn't?" Omi asked, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

Dr. Takani sighed heavily, "We do the surgery anyhow, and hope for the best. I can't take a chance on leaving the bullet in there any longer. We will do everything we can for him, and he seems to be a very strong young man, but, I don't want to lie to you. His chances are not very good. Not good at all."

Yohji felt as if the world was spinning around him, as if all the color and noise had spun together and was whirling around a drain, a blur of crazy shapes, colors, and sounds. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that, after all this, Aya was going to die. Although the doctor was trying not to say the word, that was what she was telling them --- that Aya was dying. How could it be true? How could it happen like this, after all they had been through together? How could Crawford's damn prediction come true like this, when even the American had said it was only a possibility? He leaned forward, placing his head between his knees, as he struggled to catch his breath. It was warm in the room, much, much too warm, but Yohji felt his body shivering. He felt cold, as if everything inside of him had frozen over and become ice. He knew Omi, Ken, and Dr. Takani were talking to him, asking if he was all right, if he needed anything, but their voices sounded as if they were coming to him from under water. He could barely hear anything over the rushing of the blood through his ears and the wild, panicked thumping of his heart. He wanted to respond, to tell them he was fine, but he couldn't get his voice to obey. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was vaguely aware of the door opening, and, after a few minutes, Ken knelt down beside him and shoved a glass of water into his hand.

"Drink," he said, frowning at Yohji in concern.

The tall blonde was able to collect himself then. He took a shaking breath, then another, and managed to sit up, run his fingers through his messy, too-long hair, and take a few sips of water. After a few moments, he looked around to see Omi, Ken, and Dr. Takani all watching him with worried looks on their faces.

"S sorry," he stammered, "I just I just I don't know. It's it's a lot to have to hear, and ".

"Are you all right?" Dr. Takani asked.

Yohji nodded. "Can we see him?" he asked.

Dr. Takani nodded. "We've moved him to ICU, so that we can monitor him more closely. I've arranged for him to have a private room there. Normally, ICU patients are allowed only one visitor, for only short periods of time, but, in this case, I think we can make an exception and allow all three of you to see your friend. I don't really see what it would hurt, all things considered."

"Dr.," Yohji said, "I I won't leave him."

Dr. Takani nodded again. "I figured as much. It's against hospital policy, but, again I don't see what it could hurt, in this case. I'll make sure none of the nurses or other doctors bother you."

"Thanks," Yohji said. He managed to give her a weak smile.

Dr. Takani rose and moved from behind the desk, nodding her thanks to Ken as the ex-goalie held the door open for her. "I have to warn you," she said, "Mr. Fujimiya probably won't know you're there. He's heavily sedated, and there is a machine breathing for him. I thought you should know, before you went in there."

None of them replied, but Omi managed to nod his understanding to the doctor, while Ken hauled a very shaken, very pale Yohji to his feet. 

****


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

Yohji stood in the kitchen doorway of their apartment above the flower shop, framed in the open door. A slight, cool breeze wafted into the room, bringing the smells and sounds of early Spring with it. He leaned against one side of the door jamb, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and silently watched Aya through the open doorway. It was the first warm, sunny day they'd had in the past several months, and the redhead seemed to be taking advantage of the early morning sunlight. Aya was sitting three steps down from the top of the stairway that led from their second-story kitchen to the alley beneath. He was leaning against the stair rail, soaking up the early morning sun's warm rays. His back was to the door, so Yohji couldn't see his face, but the tall blonde imagined he probably had his eyes closed. Aya looked more peaceful and at ease than he'd seen him in quite some time. Bubba sat on the step next to the redhead. The dog had looked up, briefly acknowledging Yohji's presence with a whine of greeting, but Aya hadn't bothered to turn around.

Yohji had been standing there, watching Aya for at least fifteen minutes, and, in all that time, the redhead hadn't moved or given any indication he knew anyone was standing behind him. The tall blonde didn't know whether that fact should upset him or not. On the one hand, Aya did seem peaceful. Still, this was Aya, for crying out loud, and Aya, if he had been at his best, would have known immediately that he was being watched. Yohji took another sip of coffee and silently told himself he shouldn't worry; Aya probably knew he was here, but it was just like the stubborn redhead not to give him the satisfaction of letting on that he knew.

Yohji took another sip of coffee and thought back over the events of the past several months. It all seemed like a huge, exhausting blur. He could hardly believe it, but, in just a few days, it would be April. From the looks of the weather this morning, maybe Spring was finally here, bringing much-needed renewal and relief from the cold, gray, rainy weather they'd had for so long. Yohji couldn't help but hope the new season would allow them all to renew and put the ugly memories of the past few months aside. He knew where the time had gone, but, still, he couldn't help but wonder at how it had passed so quickly. Aya had been in the hospital for almost a month, and, during the first few weeks of his stay there, Yohji's world had been reduced to the confines of Aya's room, a twenty foot by twenty foot expanse of nothing more than white --- white walls, white ceiling, white floor, white bed sheets, and one, deathly white, terribly sick assassin. Then, it was as if time had stopped for Yohji; it wouldn't start again until Aya was well. The doctors had managed to get Aya stabilized enough to remove the bullet from his chest, but he had just barely survived the surgery. For the first several, very tense days Yohji really hadn't thought Aya would make it. None of them had. Even with the bullet gone, the rest of Aya's injuries and the infection, which seemed intent on overtaking his entire system, had threatened to drag him down forever. Still, just when it had seemed hopeless, the redhead had managed, somehow, to pull through. After about a month in the hospital, Aya had had enough of doctors, nurses, squeaky shoes during the night, white walls and floors, and being poked and prodded, and he had checked himself out, against medical advice. He was still weak, still on antibiotics that were strong enough to kill a horse, and still had his right arm in a sling, since the dislocated shoulder, cracked collarbone, and bullet wound hadn't come close to healing. But, all in all, he seemed to be on the road to recovery. It appeared that he was getting stronger by the day.

Aya had been home for a little while now, and, they were all happy about having him back. Even so, Yohji felt as if the Aya who had returned to them wasn't the same one they had come to know in the weeks before his sudden, unexpected departure. He knew Omi and Ken felt it, too. Before all this had started, Aya had struggled to open up to them a bit, to let them into his life, but, after he came home from the hospital, he completely withdrew from all of them. It was worse than when he had first joined Weiss. He mostly kept to his room, as the rest of them refused to let him do any work in the shop, and he had virtually stopped talking. Yohji had tried to break through Aya's façade, to get the redhead to talk to him, but Aya even shut him out, which, Yohji had to admit, still stung, considering the close friendship they had developed. The only companion the redhead allowed near him was Bubba. The big dog was always with Aya, constantly shadowing him and never straying more than a few feet away. Yohji knew Aya had his own reasons for shutting them all out, and he constantly reminded himself that Aya's reasons were probably good ones. But, all three of them, and he, in particular, had put a lot of time and effort into breaking through Aya's walls, and Yohji had to admit that, seeing Aya the way he was now, even more shut off and withdrawn than he had been upon first joining Weiss, was damn frustrating and painful --- all the more so because he still cared about Aya, but he didn't have the first clue about how to help him. Yohji had felt helpless from the very beginning of this whole mess, as if he was watching a train wreck that he had no hope of stopping, and he was getting really, really tired of feeling that way.

Yohji sighed and moved away from the door, resolving to talk to Aya about it, right now, this minute, even if he had to use force to do it. The tall blonde moved to the cupboards over the sink and pulled down Aya's favorite coffee mug. He poured a cup of the hot liquid, black, just the way Aya liked it, and dumped in a spoon, which hit the cup's side with a soft, clinking sound. After pausing once more in the doorway to gather his wits and his resolve, he moved down the stairs to take up a seat directly behind his quiet friend.

"Hey," Yohji said, gently nudging Aya with his foot. When the redhead turned around and squinted up at him, Yohji held out the extra mug. "Coffee?"

"Mmmm," Aya said, reaching up with his good arm to take the offered cup. He held onto the spoon so that it wouldn't slide down to smack him in the face as he took a sip and said, around the cup's rim, "Thanks."

Yohji sat quietly for a minute, satisfied that Aya was, at least, tolerating his presence. Considering the way Aya had been ever since he had returned from the hospital, Yohji had halfway expected him to get up and quietly retreat back into the kitchen, and, then, shortly thereafter, up the stairs and to his room. Yohji pulled his sunglasses into place, shielding his eyes from the sun, and pulled one knee up to his chest, encircling it with his arm. He placed his coffee cup on the step beside him and started to pull one of the cigarettes out of his ever-present pack, but, once he had the stick out, Yohji thought better of it. Although he smoked occasionally, Aya never had liked second-hand smoke all that much, and he was a little afraid it might drive the redhead back inside. Yohji sighed and silently slid the cigarette back into its place. He rested his coffee cup and his chin on his drawn-up knee, and just waited, staring at the view of the alley and the street just beyond and hoping Aya would decide to speak.

After what seemed like an eternity, Aya asked, "Standing there long?"

"No," Yohji said, then, grinning sheepishly, he added, "OK, so, maybe fifteen minutes or so. What'cha doing out here, anyhow?"

"Nothing," Aya replied, "Just sitting thinking watching life happen."

Yohji looked around the alley. There were two cats digging in the nearest trash bin. One of them meowed loudly, apparently signaling success, before emerging from the garbage clutching half of a fish in its mouth. As Yohji watched, it leapt nimbly to the ground and darted for a darkened doorway, closely followed by its companion. A little farther down the alley, a homeless woman pushed her shopping cart toward the street, stopping every so often to pick up something from the ground. She muttered under her breath and shook her head as she tossed her newly found items in with the rest of her belongings. A small part of the street was visible from their back stairs, and, in the alley's opening, Yohji could see a man in a business suit waiting for the bus. Two passing cars ran through a puddle, one after the other, and splashed him with muddy water.

"Oh, yeah," Yohji smirked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, "And what a lovely life it is."

Aya shrugged his left shoulder. "Still life nonetheless."

It was silent for several moments, until Aya said, in a soft, barely audible voice, "You don't have to watch me all the time. I know you've been following me around, turning down dates so you can stay home and keep an eye on me. I'm not a child."

Yohji frowned and squirmed on his seat, caught off guard by Aya's words. In spite of the fact he was looking at Aya's back, the younger man's tone of voice told him Aya was spearing him with one of his knowing, "death-glare" type stares, all the same, and it made the tall blonde distinctly uncomfortable. "I I don't mean to treat you like a child. None of us do. We're just worried."

Aya sighed. "I know. I'm sor " His voice trailed off, and he sighed again, this time in frustration. "I know," he repeated.

Yohji watched as Aya bent his head forward to stare into his coffee cup. The blonde paused for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, said, "Things haven't seemed all right. **You** haven't seemed all right. Not since you've been home, and we're all just worried about you. I know it probably that we probably irritate you, but we can't help it. You you're part of the family. So we worry."

Yohji saw an almost imperceptible stiffening of Aya's back. He almost expected the redhead to bolt for the door behind them, and, for a moment, he cursed himself for his choice of words. He could tell it was taking an incredible act of will to keep Aya in place at the moment, but he was thankful that his friend wasn't giving in to the urge to run away, as he had so often since his return.

Finally, Aya said, "I still hear him, you know. In in my mind, sometimes. It's not as bad, now, but " He paused and took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, heartfelt sigh as he muttered, "Shit. Maybe I **am** crazy. Maybe I'll always hear him."

Yohji wanted to lean forward and touch Aya on the shoulder, just to give the redhead some measure of comfort, just to let him know he wasn't alone. But, somehow, he thought Aya wouldn't tolerate it. He didn't want to do anything that might cause the younger man to stop talking to him, but he could hear the empty, lost tone in Aya's voice --- the same as when he had found the redhead in that warehouse. He couldn't see his friend's face, but he imagined Aya's eyes had that same, empty look. It broke his heart, but he held his ground and refrained from trying to comfort the redhead in any way. Instead, he waited quietly, for Aya to continue whenever he was ready.

"I hear him saying things that I'm a murderer that I destroy everything around me that I destroy everything and everyone I care about that I deserve nothing from life, but death. It's it's like I'm standing at the edge of this cliff or, on this tall building and I hear him, telling me to jump, that it'd be better for everyone, if I did. And, the thing is I **want** to. I really want to do what he says. It's all the same things he said, you know when he had me. I tried I really tried not to give in, but he was so strong. And, now now I I hear his voice all the time. Sometimes sometimes, I don't even know if it's him, or if it's me my own mind. He never said anything that wasn't true that I didn't already know was true."

Yohji sat quietly for several minutes, digesting what Aya had told him. He had known Schuldich had messed with Aya's mind, but he hadn't realized it was this bad. He hadn't had any idea it was still happening. They hadn't heard anything from Schwarz for the past two months, but Yohji knew Crawford had broken into the Kritiker facility where the German was being held and reclaimed Schuldich. He didn't really think Schuldich was actively invading Aya's mind any longer. Crawford had already indicated he intended to "reprogram" the German, and he doubted Schuldich currently had the freedom he'd need to toy with Aya like this. It was more likely that whatever Aya was hearing was something left over from his stay with Schuldich, something the German had implanted during the redhead's captivity. Still, hearing Aya speak so calmly about it made him feel cold inside. It was almost as if hearing the words drop from Aya's lips made it true and prevented him from denying that his friend was still suffering, and Yohji hated that feeling. He shivered in spite of the warm sun and tried to cover the action by taking another sip of coffee. He waited for a little while longer, just in case Aya wasn't finished talking, but, when the redhead remained silent, he decided his friend was probably through.

"Aya, that's not none of that " he stammered, searching for just the right words to reach the younger man. Finally, Yohji sighed in frustration and decided to just plunge ahead with what he wanted to say, "It's not true, Aya. None of that is true. You haven't destroyed anything, or anyone that you care about. You do what you do, something you hate, just so you can take care of Aya-chan, and, because you believe in this kind of justice, when all other justice fails. I know you do. I've seen it in your eyes. But, you're not a murderer. How many times have you gone against Kritiker's orders to save an innocent? The orders are always the same: everyone dies, no witnesses to what we do. But, I can't even count the number of times you've rescued victims of our targets, given them new passports, money, and a way out of the country. The same for witnesses. I know you tried to hide it from us, to protect us, in case Kritiker ever found out, but we know about it. All of us do. And, what about Hank? You pulled him off the streets, gave him friendship, a new life, and asked nothing in return. Even when he betrayed you, you never turned on him. You gave yourself to that crazy fucker just to save his little girl, and, now, because of you, he has his daughter back and a new life, too. Shit! I wouldn't even be alive today if it wasn't for you. If you hadn't jumped in front of that freaking bullet, I would have died, right there in that warehouse. You never even thought twice about doing it. Fuck, Aya! You're a good man. You can't you can't let that twisted fuck Schuldich define who and what you are." Yohji took a breath and stared at Aya's back. He hoped the redhead was listening, but he couldn't tell. "If you if you let go if you let yourself go over that edge, shit, Aya, you're gonna be taking all of us with you. None of us even want to imagine being here or doing this knowing that you're dead. None of us would ever get over it, even if you are the most stubborn prick to ever walk the earth --- and bossy, to boot!" Yohji smiled a little in relief when he heard Aya chuckle at his little joke. "**You** say who you are, Aya. No one no one else. If you really believe you are a murderer, then there's no hope for you; Schuldich has already won. But, there are a lot of people who say differently, a lot of people, me, Omi, and Ken included, who say you're a good man, even if you have to do bad things, even if you have to do things no one should ever do. It doesn't change who you are inside."

Aya laughed, a harsh, hollow sound. "That's what my mother said, too."

Yohji's eyes narrowed in a suspicious look. "I'm sorry. I guess I don't follow you. I thought your mother was dead."

Aya nodded, and, without ever turning to look at Yohji, said in a soft, slightly unsteady voice, "Yeah, but I had a dream before, when I was in the hospital and, then, even after I came home. Every time I found myself standing at that cliff Schuldich whispering for me to jump and I really, really want to do it. Then, I'm on a beach walking with Schuldich following me still telling me things and my mom is there, in front of me, like she was waiting for me. And, she waves her hand and Schuldich he just goes away, just like that just the way I want to make him go away, but I never can. And, she walks with me, and shows me things." Aya leaned his head against the stair rail and sighed in frustration, "Shit I I sound crazy. I'm I'm crazy. I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

Yohji knew that tone of voice all too well. He knew, if he leaned around Aya's shoulder, he would find the redhead was blushing furiously. Aya never was one to talk much, and, hardly ever about his feelings. Yohji knew how hard it was for his friend to open up like this, especially after backsliding into his old, anti-social, introspective ways, but he didn't want Aya to stop. He had a strong feeling that, if they were going to keep Aya from jumping off that cliff, the redhead really needed to finish saying this.

"You're not crazy, Aya. And, you're telling me this because we're friends. No judgments, no nothing. Nothing but friendship," Yohji said, softly, urging the younger man to continue.

Aya took a deep breath, steeling himself to tell the rest of his story. After gathering his thoughts for a few seconds, he said, so softly that Yohji had to lean forward to hear him, "The ocean it's so calm like a giant lake more than the sea, you know. And, we walk and talk. And, she's not happy with what I've done with my life, but she shows me things she points to the water, and I see faces, a lot of them, maybe hundreds, I don't know. I can recognize some of them people I've let go, like you said, or people I've helped, like Hank or his daughter and you guys are there, too. And, she tells me that this is where I find my redemption."

Yohji was quiet for several moments. Finally, he said, "What what do you think about that?"

Aya's only response was to give Yohji that one-shouldered shrug once more.

Before Yohji could pursue the subject further, sounds from the kitchen alerted him to the presence of their two absent teammates. He smiled slightly as he heard Omi rattling around in the kitchen after a coffee cup and Ken pounding down the stairs from their bedrooms on the floor above the kitchen and living room.

"Here they are!" Omi called out. "Ken, I found them; they're both out here, on the stairs!"

Within a few minutes, Omi and Ken crowded into the open door behind Yohji. The older blonde twisted around to grin at the younger Weiss members, both of whom held steaming cups of coffee. Omi grinned back at him, and Ken, whose hair was still rumpled from sleep, yawned and gave Yohji a small, half-hearted, little wave. The older man couldn't help but smile at them. While Omi was neatly dressed in Khaki pants and a red sweater, Ken was still wearing the sweatpants and rumpled, white t-shirt in which he normally slept.

"So, kids, what's up? Just get outta bed or what?" Yohji asked, a teasing grin on his face.

Aya never turned around to look at the new arrivals. Bubba whined a greeting, although he never left his spot by Aya's side.

Omi moved out to sit between Aya and Yohji, one step below the oldest assassin and one step above Aya. Ken followed him and plopped down on the same step as Yohji. He leaned heavily into the older blonde with a grunt, jostling Yohji's elbow and spilling hot coffee on his hand in the process.

"Hey!" Yohji protested. "Watch it, doofus! Just 'cause you're not awake yet doesn't mean the rest of us can forgive being scalded so damn early in the morning."

Ken just grinned, shrugged, and noisily slurped his coffee.

"I think Ken just got up," Omi said, his cheerful voice seeming to blend perfectly with the sounds of spring around them. "But, I've been up for hours. I was downstairs, in the mission room, surfing the Internet."

"Yeah," Yohji said, just a hint of a chuckle coloring his words, "Looking for porn, I'll bet."

"I was not!" Omi yelled indignantly, a deep, red blush coloring his face. "You're the only one who surfs for porn on our Kritiker computer, and you know it!"

Yohji shrugged and grinned at the younger blonde, but he didn't even try to deny it. Why bother? They all knew it was the truth.

"So?" Ken asked, "What are you guys doing out here?"

"Ah, nothing," Yohji replied, "Sitting, watching life."

"Hmmm," Ken said.

After a moment, Omi exclaimed, "Oh! I almost forgot! I'll be right back!"

He jumped up and quickly clambered over Ken, who had been sitting directly behind him. In a few moments, they heard the sound of his footsteps retreating through the kitchen and pounding up the stairs.

Yohji gave Ken a one-eyebrow-raised, suspicious look, "You let the kid eat too much sugar this morning?"

Ken shook his head. "No, but I bet I know exactly what he's gone in there to get."

"The camera," Yohji and Aya groaned, in unison.

They had all chipped in several days ago to buy a digital camera as a gift for Omi, and the boy had been driving them crazy with it ever since. He dragged it out and took photographs at the least little provocation, and his three teammates were starting to think purchasing the camera had been a serious mistake.

Within minutes, Omi emerged from the kitchen holding his camera and a tripod. He clambered over Ken, hitting the ex-goalie in the head with the tripod in the process, which earned a grunt of protest. Omi waved a quick apology, jumped over Bubba, and took the rest of the steps two at a time until he stood at the bottom of the stairs. He fiddled with the tripod for a few seconds, until he got it set at the correct height. Then, he quickly screwed the camera into place and set its automatic timer.

As he fiddled with the focus, he looked up and smiled at his friends, "Just just one quick picture." When the other three groaned in response, he stood up, placed his hands on his hips, and said, in an irritated voice, "Come on! It'll only take a second, and you're all already out here!" He gave them an innocent, angelic smile. Anyone seeing that smile would never believe the boy was a deadly assassin. After a few more seconds of fiddling with the knobs, he said, "All right, tighten up a bit."

He waved his hand in the air, to indicate that the rest of them should move in closer. At first, no one moved, but, after Omi gave them a sad, pouty look, they all moved in together, each of them rolling his eyes and groaning in protest. Yohji moved down to sit directly behind Aya and placed his arm around the redhead's neck, gently drawing him back so that Aya was leaning against his chest. Ken moved one step above and slightly to the right side of Yohji, and leaned over the older man's right shoulder. Even Bubba, as if he understood what was happening, got up to amble closer to Aya. The big dog clambered halfway into Aya's lap, as far as he could fit, and Aya chuckled and placed his hand on the dog's big, square head.

"OK!" Omi squeaked.

He pushed the button to start the timer and dashed into the picture, positioning himself on the step below Aya, right in front of the redhead. As the flash went off, both Omi and Yohji gave a "peace sign" signal by putting the first two fingers of their right hands into a "v" shape.

Once the photo was done, Omi jogged back to the bottom of the stairs, where he bent down and reviewed the results on the camera's video screen. Obviously pleased with what he saw, he smiled and waved at his friends before dismantling the camera and tripod set up.

"A good one!" he cried, enthusiastically.

As he started to take the camera off the tripod, he stopped, with a startled expression on his face, and pulled something out of his back pocket. "Oh! I I almost forgot! This came this morning. It's for you, Aya."

He walked forward and held a sealed envelope out to the redhead. Yohji, who was still sitting close to Aya, leaned over his friend's shoulder to see it. He saw Aya's name, and frowned when he recognized Manx's neat handwriting. Aya frowned, too, and, without a word, tore the envelope open. A single piece of paper, which had been folded in half, fell out. One line was printed on it: _"Retirement options; Kritiker, 10:30 AM."_

Aya glanced at his watch, frowning when he noticed it read: _"9:30"_. He shoved Bubba off him as gently as he could, considering that he could only use his left arm. Once the dog had moved, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, using the hand rail for leverage, and carefully, almost clumsily, as if he was afraid he would fall, turned and started to head for the open kitchen doorway.

Yohji grabbed Aya's free wrist, and asked, "Where you going?"

Aya didn't look Yohji in the eye, but he replied, quietly, "I have to go."

The blonde refused to release his wrist, and Aya finally turned toward his friend, looking at Yohji with sad, tired blue-violet eyes.

"Yohji, please. I have to go."

Yohji shook his head, "No. She can come here, if she wants to talk. She can come here and do it with all of us present."

Aya sighed, "It's best for me to go alone, but, even if you were there, it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't keep Kritiker from doing anything they want to do. Stop worrying so much, Yohji."

"Like hell!" Yohji snapped. He stood up and tossed the remnants of his coffee over the side of the stair rail. "At the very least, I'm going with you."

"No, you're not," Aya argued as he attempted, without success, to shrug off Yohji's restraining hand.

The blonde tightened his grip on Aya's wrist. He could see a dark bruise discoloring Aya's skin, but he refused to let go. "And, how are you gonna get there? Take a bus? You can't drive with that shoulder like that, and, even if you could, you're still too weak and too hopped up on painkillers."

When it looked like Aya was still going to refuse, Yohji said, softly, "Come on, Aya. I'll just drive you there. I'll wait outside. Please." He knew he was begging, but he couldn't stand the thought of Aya going alone. Manx had assured him that he and Aya were both back in Kritiker, free and clear, but Yohji couldn't shake the feeling that, if Aya went to this meeting alone, they'd never see him again.

Aya looked away, and said, in a soft whisper of a voice, "They'll send a car. I'm sorry, Yohji. It it has to be this way."

He shook off the blonde's restraining hand, and slowly made his way back into the kitchen, as Yohji lit up his first cigarette of the day and angrily smoked it, cursing under his breath.

****************************************************************

The morning crowd in the flower shop was fairly light for a Saturday, which was just as well. None of them was much in the mood for working at their so-called "day jobs". Yohji had remained on the back steps for two hours after Aya's departure, chain smoking and cursing softly. Ken and Omi had opened up the shop, but the normal, jovial manner they normally had in dealing with the customers was noticeably absent. Several of their regulars commented that they hoped nothing serious was wrong, at which point Omi just smiled sadly, shook his head, and told them they were worried about a sick friend. After a couple of hours, Yohji finally came into the shop, but he didn't even try to help out with the customers. While Omi and Ken tried to occupy their minds with busy work --- straightening out the coolers, restocking the emptied flower buckets, or straightening the back supply room --- Yohji sat at the table near the cash register, smoking and silently staring into space.

Four hours after his departure for the meeting with Kritiker, Aya returned. He entered, unnoticed, through the front door, and paused, taking in the scene before him. The first wave of fan girls had, apparently, taken over the store. They crowded around Ken and Omi, jumping up and down and yelling to be heard over the voices of their companions, each one asking for this kind of flower, or that kind of flower, or what she should buy for a sick friend anything to get the two boys to notice them. Omi and Ken were doing their best to assist the girls and keep peace in the shop, but Aya could tell their hearts weren't in it. He'd never seen either of them look quite so dejected, and neither of them were listening to anything the girls said. It was as if they were moving in slow motion or on auto pilot. Although there were only about ten or fifteen girls in this group, a small gathering in comparison to the ones they had on school days, the noise level in the shop was loud enough to sound like at least a hundred clamoring, insistent, subtly whiney girls, all begging for attention at once. Aya could hardly hear himself think. Yohji sat at the table near the cash register, seemingly oblivious to the din. He stared off into space, and, even though he wore his sunglasses, there was no mistaking the dark, angry look on his face, which had been enough to ensure that no one approached him. He had, obviously, been chain smoking, as Aya could see three empty packs of cigarettes on the table in front of him.

Aya shook his head and quietly made his way, unnoticed by the school girls or his teammates, into the shop. He stopped in front of the table and waited for Yohji to notice him. When the tall blonde realized someone was standing in front of him, throwing a shadow across the table, he started to growl at them to move. When he realized it was Aya, the angry words died in his throat, and he stood up from the table, a relieved expression crossing his face and his eyes, which Aya could just barely see behind the dark lenses of his glasses. Omi and Ken saw Aya, too, and they, somehow, managed to break away from the group of fan girls without anyone noticing their absence.

The four assassins gathered around the table, and Aya threw something down onto it. It was an envelope. Yohji picked it up, and started to thumb through its contents, but without really noticing what they were.

"So?" the blonde asked in a hushed voice, "What what happened?"

Aya stared at the table top, and softly replied, adopting the same, hushed tone Yohji had used, to prevent anyone nearby from overhearing their conversation, "Kritiker has placed Weiss on indefinite leave. They offered to let me out, free and clear. I guess it was their way of apologizing for trying to retire me."

He turned to walk away, but his three friends stopped him.

"So?" Yohji asked.

"So, I said no," Aya replied.

"But, are you sure?" Ken asked. "I mean it's your one chance to have a life a normal life, without you know. They won't ever offer again."

Aya gave a half-hearted left shoulder shrug, wincing in pain as he did so. "If I wasn't here who would keep you guys out of trouble? I mean I'm gone one morning, and look at this place --- full of non-buying customers, and looking like a tornado hit it." He looked up to see his three friends watching him with anxious, worried expressions, and he smiled, one of his rare, shy smiles, "I'm sure. But, I did tell them a vacation would be nice. Someplace warm." He nodded toward the envelope in Yohji's hand, and said, "Hawaii."

Yohji frowned in confusion and took a closer look at the envelope's contents. There were, indeed, four tickets to Hawaii, four passports, and a sheet of paper confirming hotel reservations for a two week stay at a resort on Maui. "Hot damn," he muttered, grinning at Aya.

Aya grinned back, a genuine grin this time, and not a shy, half-hidden smile. The redhead turned and made his way toward the back room, obviously intending to retreat upstairs to their living quarters. He stopped at the doorway separating the shop's customer area from its supply room and turned to look at the crowd in the store.

"IF YOU'RE NOT BUYING ANYTHING, GET OUT!" he yelled, before ducking into the darkened supply room.

Yohji laughed at Aya's retreating figure. For the first time in quite a while, the blonde had the feeling everything was right with the world, all in place, just as it should be.

****


	18. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Hank leaned on his rake, tilting his head toward the sky, eyes closed, so that the sun's warmth could wash over him. He saw nothing but the color red behind his closed lids, but he felt the warming, healing rays caressing his face and embracing him. He loved the way it felt; it reminded him of the way his beloved Yuki had held him, when she was alive. When he stood like this, the sun caressing his skin, he almost felt like she was there with him, encircling him with her arms and holding her soft, warm cheek against his face. He sighed softly and opened his eyes, looking around him and slowly taking in the neat, white, two-bedroom house with its broad porch that surrounded it on three sides, the neatly-clipped, green lawn, the flowerbeds bursting with colored blooms of several varieties, the hedges, which surrounded the lawn and hid the encircling chain-link fence from view, and the small pile of grass clippings at his feet, which he was presently raking. Hank smiled. He couldn't help it. His house, his lawn, his flowerbeds, his hedges, his fence, his pile of grass clippings --- he still couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe his good fortune.

He and Keiko hadn't had any trouble getting out of Japan. The passports and plane tickets that Ran and the others had given him had made that possible. At the time, Hank had hoped for nothing more than to simply get back to Texas. If Ran and the others had made that possible, they would have done much more than was ever necessary. After all, they hadn't owed him anything. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't even really been able to look into the fat envelope Ken had shoved into his hand that night. It wasn't until he and Keiko had arrived in Houston and he felt truly safe, that he had taken a good look at it, only to discover it was full of cash. It had turned out to be enough money for him to settle almost anywhere he chose, but Hank had decided to go back toward what he felt was his home --- San Antonio.

In the end, he had decided to settle in Schertz, a small town just outside of San Antonio. Hank liked the idea of raising Keiko in a small town, and the area offered calm, quiet living, good schools, and friendly, helpful neighbors. With the money Ran and the others had given them, he had been able to buy this little house, paying cash for it, and to purchase all the things they would need to start over: furniture, clothing, and the other necessities of life. There had even been enough left over for him to invest in lawn care and gardening equipment, and he had started his own little landscaping and lawn care business. The business had been going for several months now, and he already had a lot of very pleased, regular clients, including a few businesses in San Antonio. Keiko had started in the local school, and she had adjusted quickly to her new life. Within days, she had become the bubbly, out-going child he had remembered, and she seemed to love school. Not a day went by when his house wasn't filled with the laughter and happy voices of Keiko and her little friends.

Hank sighed and started raking the dwindling pile of grass clippings into a metal tub. Once he was done, he would carry them to the back of his house, where he kept a compost pile, which he used in his landscaping business. It had only been a few months since they had left Japan, but that life and the things that had happened there all seemed like a dream now. He could almost believe he hadn't ever known Ran or any of the others, except for the fact that he knew he owed his life to them. Everything would have been perfect, if only he knew, for sure, that Ran was all right. He knew it had been the best decision to leave Japan at that point, that it was the safest thing for all of them --- him, Keiko, and, even Ran. But, when he owed Ran everything, when the quiet redhead had so freely given him friendship, and, even, placed his life on the line to save Keiko, it had killed him to leave without seeing everything through to a resolution. Even now, he didn't know if Ran was even alive, and that haunted him. He thought that, had Ran been killed, Yohji would, probably, show up on his doorstep eventually, to exact revenge. He didn't hold it against the man. Yohji was just like that, especially where Ran was concerned, and Hank knew he had only gotten out of Japan alive because Ran's friendship had protected him from Yohji's wrath. Not a day went by that Hank didn't half-way expect to open his door in the morning to find Yohji sitting on his front porch, wearing that black leather coat of his, and chain smoking, but, all the same, he didn't live in fear of it. If it came to that, he considered it a debt he owed, and he'd be happy to pay it, even if it meant his life. He had already made arrangements for his parents, who lived in San Antonio, to get guardianship of Keiko, should anything happen to him. He only regretted not knowing what had happened to Ran, and, in a way, it seemed unfair that he should be so happy, especially when there was a good chance his friend had died to purchase this new life.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

A little girl's voice brought Hank away from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Keiko stepping off the school bus. She waved to him and stopped at the mailbox to pull out the day's mail. She was wearing a little blue jean skirt that hung to her knees, knee socks, and little, blue Mary Jane shoes, along with a pink peasant blouse, which tied in the front with a blue ribbon. Her hair was pulled back into a rather untidy ponytail. He had been trying, but he had to admit that he still hadn't quite gotten the hang of fixing a little girl's hair. Keiko didn't seem to mind all that much, though. As she reached into the mailbox, she dropped her pink backpack, which had, previously, been hanging loosely off one shoulder, onto the ground. It kicked up a puff of dust as it landed, and Hank couldn't help but laugh and slightly shake his head as the "Powerpuff Girls" picture on the bag came into clear view.

Hank waved back and smiled as he watched her standing on her tiptoes, face frowning, tongue held between her teeth in concentration as she stretched to reach the very back of the mailbox. She smiled in triumph when she managed to grab and retrieve a small package before skipping up the sidewalk to the break in the hedges that would allow her to pull open the gate and enter the front yard.

"Hey, pun'kin!" Hank called, kneeling down and holding out his arms for her as she ran across the front yard, right through the pile of clippings he'd been gathering.

She laughed as the loose pieces of grass scattered on the gentle breeze, and, even though he'd been working at gathering up the clippings for the better part of two hours, Hank couldn't help but laugh in return. For him, Keiko's laughter was always contagious. It was like a drug, and he couldn't ever get enough of it. Every day, he hoped he would always hear laughter from her, and, before getting her back, he had sworn that, if he was ever able to hold his daughter again, he'd do everything possible to make sure she had a happy life. Keiko threw herself into his arms, giggling as he wrapped her into a big bear hug and nuzzled her cheek with his beard.

"Daddy, it tickles," she complained, still laughing.

"So, what'cha got? Anything good in the mail today?" Hank asked.

"Mmmm," she said, holding up the package she had pulled from the mailbox, "Lookit, Daddy. This one came all the way from Japan! Who sent it, do you think?"

Hank frowned slightly as he took the small box from his daughter and turned it over in his hands. There wasn't any return address, and his address was typed neatly onto a sticky label, so there wasn't any handwriting that he could recognize.

"I don't know," he replied. "Why don't we see, huh?" She nodded in agreement and shifted to a comfortable position, leaning against him, and still encircled within his arms, so that she could watch as he tore the package open with shaking hands.

He quickly ripped open the box and removed a small picture frame, which contained a snapshot. As soon as he saw the photograph, Hank smiled. He couldn't help it. Finally, his prayers had been answered. The picture showed a group of four men and a large, black dog, seated on a stairway. Ran sat in the middle of the group. The redhead looked pale, exhausted, and sick. His right arm was tightly bound to his chest with a sling, but he was alive. He was definitely alive, and that shy, crooked smile Hank remembered so well played across the younger man's lips. Yohji sat directly behind Ran, one arm draped around the redhead's neck, and a silly, happy grin softened his features. The tall blonde's other hand was stretched out in front of him, his index and second finger making the shape of a "V". Ken sat slightly above and to the right of Yohji, leaning over the older man. Hank could see his elbow resting on Yohji's shoulder, and the ex-goalie had a big, stupid grin pasted on his face. Omi sat directly in front of Aya. The youngest member of the group was also grinning like a fool, and he was also making a "V" sign with his fingers. Bubba sat on Ran's lap, and Hank would have sworn even the dog was smiling for the camera. He couldn't tell how long ago the photograph had been taken, but the postmark indicated it had only been mailed a couple of weeks before its arrival. They must have taken it long after his departure from Japan, and Hank could feel relief surging through him at the realization that his friend, Ran, was alive and, from the looks of it, doing okay.

"Oh, look!" Keiko exclaimed, pointing to the photograph, "That's Mr. Aya, isn't it? And, Mr. Ken, and Mr. Omi, and that other man. I don't remember his name."

"Yeah," Hank replied softly. He struggled to keep the tears in his voice from reaching his eyes, but he felt them sliding down his cheeks, just the same.

"Daddy? Why are you crying?" Keiko asked, shifting around to look at him and taking his face between her small hands.

Hank rubbed his cheek against his shoulder to dry the tears, and said, with a smile, "Daddy's happy, sweetie. I'm crying because I'm happy."

He turned the picture over in his hands and found an inscription on the back of the frame. There, written in four distinct, easily recognizable styles of handwriting, were the following four lines: _"Peace. - Omi"; "Happiness. - Ken"; "Absolution. - Yohji"; and "Redemption. - Ran"._

****


End file.
